


Blind but not Sightless

by 1MissMolly



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Blindness, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Over protective Tanner, Rated For Violence, Self-Pity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: "And your eyesight does not define you as a person, Bond. Neither does your job. Did I ever let you quit on a mission?” Q asked.“No, but this isn’t . . .”“I don’t give a fuck what this is. You didn’t quit then, I will not let you quit now either. You are my agent and I am your Quartermaster. We work together to get the job done . . . Any job.”Bond is caught in an explosion and wakes up blind. What is a spy going to do when he can't see his target?





	1. The Explosion

**Author's Note:**

> I am always amazed and impressed by individuals who do not allow their disabilities define them or inhibit them. Here is a short story about how a man who spent his life dependent on his senses to survive re-invents himself while learning being blind doesn't mean you are sightless. Especially when you have a Quartermaster in your corner. 
> 
> Special thanks to fffan for suggestions and help.

The blast was blinding white. The wave of heat and pressure knocked Bond off his feet. He was pushed into a cinder block wall. Sliding down the rough surface, he felt his back scrape against the bricks. The prick of tearing skin. His legs folded underneath him. For a brief moment, Bond could feel the pain ricocheting in his head. The sting of burning flesh. He didn’t scream. He didn’t make a sound. Bond’s instincts were to fight. Get back up on his feet and keep going.

Bond’s heart was pounding. He wanted to get up and continue the fight but his body refused.

“007!”

Bond could hear Q’s voice, but it seemed far away. Muted. He tried to answer the man, but James’ lips couldn’t move properly.

“Uhmo . . .” Bond couldn’t recognize his own voice. The blast still ringing in his ears.

“007, are you alright?!” Q’s voice had a heighten level of anxiety. “Bond, answer me!”

Bond tried to lift his hand, but the limb remained limp at his side. His eyes couldn’t focus. He forced his eyes open and the world was washed out in pale shades of watercolors. He couldn’t make sense of what he was looking at. He blinked and the pale light began to fade to grey then black.

“007!”

The last thing Bond heard before he slumped forward was Q’s voice, begging him to answer the younger man. Bond tried to call out to Q but he couldn’t.

~Q~

Q had been monitoring Bond as he infiltrated the warehouse. It was believed to be the hub of a large drug manufacturing ring located in Spain. A new conduit coming in from the Middle East bring heroin and methamphetamines into England through the southern ports. The ring had also branched off into human trafficking and were responsible for murders of numerous illegal immigrants.

There were no cameras within the warehouse. The drone that had been launched to fly over the area was unable to give any information regarding the interior of the building. Being the middle of the day and a city on the southern edge of Spain, heat imagery was useless.

Bond had gone into the building blind. Q knew he couldn’t slow the agent down and ask him to wait until there was more intel. Bond was determined to find the men responsible for the murder of his contact, Margarete. A demur young woman with large hazel eyes. She had been raped and strangled while Bond had been out following the head of the drug smugglers.

Q was watching the feed from the drone. Checking to make sure no one else showed up and entered the warehouse. In his ear, he could hear Bond moving through the building. They spoke in an abbreviated dialog as they worked together while separated by hundreds of miles.

Bond informed Q that had found where they had been keeping the immigrants. They were housed inside large shipping containers that could easily be loaded onto cargo ships. Q could hear the frightened people inside, mostly women and children. There was the high pitched groan of steel doors as Bond opened the containers. Q listened as Bond tried to tell the frightened people to leave; run away. They were too frightened to move. Finally Bond cursed in Q’s ear. He grabbed one of the smaller children, a girl of four or five. He picked her up in arms and ran towards the door. Q heard the women crying for Bond to give the child back. Suddenly, the immigrants understood and ran for the door and out of the building. Q watched the video feed as people fled the warehouse. The spread out and ran across the tarmac and into the nearby fields.

“Bond, you haven’t attracted any attention outside the building yet.” Q said calmly as he directed the drone to sweep over the area again. “Time to leave, yourself.”

“No, Carlos must still be here!” Bond growled through the communication link.

Q wanted to argue with the man, but he was familiar with Bond when he became single minded. Nothing short of bullet would stop him now. A bullet or an explosion.

Q listened as he heard Bond open a door. There were voices. Men arguing.

“Found him.” Bond said calmly.

There was the sudden pop of gunfire over the audio. Q turned the volume down slightly. He could feel the slight increase in his pulse and his concentration intensified as he waited for Bond to tell him all clear.

The explosion was loud. Q grabbed for the earwick in his ear, hissing as he did so. Then realizing that Bond still needed him, Q quickly replaced it and started tapping rapidly across his computer keys. The drone recorded a bright flash of light and the roof of the building being launched into the air. Then the drone stopped sending images. Apparently, destroyed in the blast.

“007!?” Q spoke sharply into the microphone.

He heard a mumbling and a groan.

“007, are you alright?! Bond, answer me?”

Q could hear alarms going off and distant shouting. He quickly typed in a notification for emergency medical evacuation of an agent. Simultaneously, a notification went to M and Tanner as well as MI6 medical.

“007?!” Silence.

Q pressed enter and sent MI6 into action to retrieve a downed agent.

~Q~

Bond woke to the sound of a rhythmic beep. He couldn’t see anything, but felt awful. His head hurt and his body didn’t want to move. He could tell his hands were not bound which was a good thing he thought. He was laying down on what reminded him of a hospital bed. Scratchy sheets over what felt like a very firm air mattress. There was a thin blanket over his body providing little in the way of warmth.

He held his breath without moving. His ribs burned. The beeping increased. He slowly breathed out and in as the beeping slowed. _‘Okay,’_ he thought, _‘the heart monitor is hooked up to me.’_ Bond tried to listen for any sounds he could recognize. He heard the hum of the machines in the room with him. He could hear distant voices but was unable to make out specific words.

He flexed his fingers and felt the fabric of the blanket under his fingertips. He could almost picture the dark grey cotton blankets of an MI6 hospital bed. He shifted on the bed. He wasn’t restrained at all. Slowly lifting his hand, he felt the bandage around his head and over his eyes. They still stung.

He heard approaching voices and a door opening. There was the soft tread of crepe sole shoes across Formica tiles. Warm fingers wrapped around Bond’s wrist, then the scratchy sound of pen writing.

“Mister Bond, are you awake?” The voice was English, educated and female.

“Where am I?” He asked. His throat hurt and was horribly dry.

He felt the touch of a straw to his lips.

“It’s just water.” The woman said. “You are in Medical.”

James risked it and took a sip. He was relieved it was cool water.

“Who’s medical?” he asked. His voice slightly stronger.

“MI6.”

“Prove it.” Bond said coldly. “Where is Doctor Farris?”

“She’s on holiday. Doctor St. Clair is your attending.”

“Never heard of him.” Bond said. His hands began to fist.

He heard the door open again and the entrance of another person.

“He’s awake.” Bond heard the woman speak to the new visitor.

Bond instantly knew that voice. He heard it countless times over his earwicks for the past four years.

“Finally.” The sharp public school diction of his Quartermaster, but his instincts still told him to not trust.

“Q . . .” Bond spoke softly.

“Bond, glad you’re back.” Q was standing closer to the bed.

Bond felt the brush of cool fingers over the back of his fist.

“What was the first thing I ever said to you?” Bond asked. He expected a hesitation but Q answered him immediately.

“Bloody big ship.”

Bond signed and relaxed back into the mattress.

“Aren’t we being a little paranoid?” Bond heard the nurse ask. Q hummed.

“He is the most experienced double ‘O’ we have. I wouldn’t call it paranoid. I call it survival.” Q said. Bond wondered if that was admiration or something else he hear in Q’s voice.

“I’m I really in London?” Bond asked.

“Yes, 007. As soon as warehouse blew up, I had an extraction team moving. We barely got you out of there alive. Can you remember anything?” Q asked as he sat down beside Bond’s bed.

“Not much. I remember you shouting at me.”

Bond listened as Q huffed out a soft laugh.

“That could have been at any time. Do you remember the people you freed?”

“Yes, did they get out in time?” Bond asked. He barely remembered the child he carried to the door.

“Yes, you saved their lives. There was twenty-five of them. Seven bodies were found in the room you were located in. It looked like it was a lab for converting morphine base into street heroin. Apparently the gun fire ignited the ether in the room. Blew the whole place up. You were fortunate.” Q explained.

“How long was I out?” Bond asked.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

“My eyes?”

Q cleared his throat. Bond waited for Q to speak. The silence seemed to last too long for the young man to just have coughed.

“They haven’t told me. I don’t think they know.”

Bond was about to argue with the young man when he heard the door open and the sound of someone walking towards the bed.

“Good morning, James. How are we feeling today?” The voice was of a youngish man with the slight nasal tone found in upper class.

“We? I have no idea how we feel. I feel like shite.” Bond snapped.

The man had a humorless laugh. “Quite right. Doctor Farris warned me before she left for her holiday to be on the lookout for you double ‘O’s. Very uncooperative.”

Bond couldn’t see the man but promised himself he would punch the idiot when he could look him in his eyes.

“Doctor St. Clair, 007 was asking about his injuries.” Q said to mediate between the two men.

“Yes, yes. He did quite a number to himself this time.” Bond could hear St. Clair’s voice. He was positive he was speaking to Q and ignoring his patient in the bed. “Severe concussion, broken ribs, second and third degree burns.”

“What about my eyes?” Bond tried to keep from shouting at the man.

“Yes, yes. What about them? . . . Oh yes, apparent scarring to the cornea and possible injury to the retina in both eyes.”

Bond swallowed down the bile trying to exit his mouth. Permanent damage to his eyes meant he would no longer be allowed back into the field. He heard Q move, then the sensation of warmth moving closer to him. He perceived that Q had stepped closer to his bed.

“Are you sure?” Q asked.

Bond couldn’t make the words leave his mouth. He wanted to know but was terrified of the answer.

“Well, we needed James awake before we can actually do any diagnostic testing on his vision but I can’t give you any promises.”

“The man’s name is Bond. I don’t believe he gave you leave to call him by his first name. And he is lying right here in front of you. You can speak to him directly.” Q snapped at the doctor.

Bond could hear the sharpness of Q’s voice. It was the same cutting tone Q used when he was lecturing Bond about losing his tech. Bond heard St. Clair huff as Q continued.

“I strongly suggest you have more thorough answers before M and the Chief of Staff question you in one hour.”

“Quartermaster, we all have our responsibilities . . .” St Clair started.

“Get out.” Bond ordered.

“What?” St Clair was finally addressing the man laying in the bed.

“I said get out. Was I not clear enough for you? Would you prefer I shoot you?” Bond gritted his teeth.

Even blinded, the double ‘O’ was lethal. St Clair sputtered then stormed from the room. Bond laid still in the bed as he heard Q pull the chair across the floor. The legs of the chair scrapping across the tiles.

“That wasn’t the best option.” Q said softly. His demeanor changing rapidly from the bully of Quartermaster to something softer, gentler.

“Don’t placate me . . . You’ve already hacked into the medical records. You know the information I want.”

The room fell silent for moment. Bond listened but only heard the beeping from the heart monitor and the hum from his IV pump.

“Alright. They thought you had fractured your skull but after a CT revised it to a severe concussion. Ribs six and seven on the right lateral are broken. The blast wave gave you second degree burns on your face and hands, but they don’t think it will scar. A metal piece of ceiling strut fell on you. There was a fire and the metal got hot. You have third degree burn from the metal strut on your left thigh. A brand. Recommendation of a skin graph once everything else is healed.”

Bond took a dry swallow.

“And my eyes?”

“The chemicals in the blast wave damaged the coronas. They have not been able to evaluate the retina . . . There may be more damage.” Q’s voice trailed off.

“So I’m blind?” Bond asked. His voice taking on a detached hardness.

Q watched as the man in the bed flexed and fisted his hands. A tightness came to his features.

“They don’t know, Bond.” Q sounded force and Bond heard it.

The two men sat quietly as the monitor carried out the steady march of Bond’s heart.

“Q, I would like to rest now. If you don’t mind . . . leave me alone.”

Bond felt finger slip between his own of his right hand. The cool touch of the other man’s hand next to his.

“James . . . I want . . .”

“I’m very tired, Quartermaster.” Bond didn’t want to hear the emotion in Q’s voice. He didn’t want to feel what he thought was pity.

The hand pulled away from his and he curled his fingers into a fist. The injured skin burned as he flexed his hand.

“I will inform M that you are awake. Is there anything you need?”

“My bloody vision.” Bond growled.

“I’m sorry . . . that’s not in my power to give you.” Q’s voice was heavy with emotion. Bond listened as he heard Q rush from room.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. It wasn’t Q’s fault but Bond need to lash out. He needed to fight. He used his strength to save himself but now he his body had betrayed him. The one thing he had always relied on; the one thing he could always control was the thing that now defeated him.


	2. Diagnosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond gets his diagnosis and doesn't take it well.

Moneypenny came by to visit Bond twice, leaving after just a few minutes because of Bond’s caustic attitude. Bill Tanner visited three times, talking about ongoing missions. After the third time, he found reasons not to go to Medical and check on Bond. M visited only once. Q was the only person who was there every day. He tried to have lunch with Bond when he could. Q’s constant prodding of the injured man being the only reason Bond ate anything. Then Q would try to visit again in the afternoon before leaving for the day. He would talk about cars or guns. Ask questions to get Bond engaged into the conversation. One day, Q and Bond spent over an hour discussing the pros and cons of the DB5 over the DB7.

After a week of living in complete blackness, the doctors removed the bandages. The room was in shadows as the gauze was unwrapped from around Bond’s head. Q stood silently in the corner. Bond didn’t even know he was there. When the last of the bandages were removed, the doctor gently held Bond’s eyelids open and raised his pen light. The light reflected across the scarred lens of Bond’s eyes. Creamy white had replaced the clear sharpness of James’ eyes.

“When are you going to turn the lights on?” Bond asked calmly.

The doctor shone the light into both eyes, but Bond didn’t react.

“Do you see any change?” Doctor St. Clair asked.

Bond jerked back away from the doctor and coughed to cover up his shock.

“No.” The sound of Bond’s voice was rough. He was fighting back emotions.

Q could not. Tears began to slip down his face.

~Q~

Over the next two weeks, Bond endured numerous examinations and tests. He was prodded and poked. He had lights shined in his eyes and went through two different MRI’s. Nothing changed. He still could not see.

“Severe damage to the occipital lobe due to a blow to the back of the skull.” Doctor St. Clair said as he read through the reports. “The various chemicals that had been aerosolized by the explosion have scarred your corneas. The ophthalmologist said a cornea transplant would easily fix the problem but the nerve damage in the ocular cortex prohibited you from receiving the transplant, Bond.”

St Clair was standing in Bond’s room. Bond was sitting on the edge of his bed. His hands fisted in his lap as he listened. His whole body tense and ready to fight. His mind fixing on the simple and final diagnosis. Nerve damage to the ocular cortex. He was blind.

~Q~

Q received a text from Medical to please come immediately to the department. As he opened the doors to the Medical, he heard shouting and a loud crash. A nurse screamed and Q saw her rush out of Bond’s room and into the hallway. Q approached warily. There was another crash and sound of breaking glass. Q pushed forward and into Bond’s hospital room.

Most of the furniture was tipped over. The mattress was upended off the bed. A vase of flowers lay broken on the floor. The red and white carnations laid scattered across the floor. In the corner, Bond stood. He was panting hard. Shaking with anger. His fists were clenched as he swung wildly at the air.

He went to step forward and Q noticed the broken chair right in front of him. Bond was going to trip and fall into the broken glass.

“007, stop!” Q barked the order just as if he was speaking to Bond over the comm-link on a mission.

The agent froze in mid stride. His body tense and his hands fisted.

“Take one step back and hold.” Q spoke again while slightly softer it was still as firm.

Bond hesitated then moved as his Quartermaster told him. Then he caught himself and lowered his fists.

“Get out of here, Q!” Bond growled from the corner.

Q went further into the room and started to push the debris out of the way. Bond remained still in the corner, listening to the furniture being moved out of the way. The sound of broken glass being scrapped across tiles.

“Are you finished?” Q asked when he was standing in front of Bond.

“NO!”

“Well, then, I’m roughly two feet in front of you. If you really need too . . . punch me.” Q forced himself to remain still. He chewed on his lower lip in fear the man would take him up on his offer.

“What?” Bond asked confused, but his hands remained clenched. His body tight like a spring coil ready to explode.

“I said punch me.” Q struggled to maintain his Quartermaster persona.

“Get out, Q!” Bond growled.

“No, I will not. My agent needs me.”

“I’m not a bloody agent any longer! I’ll never be an agent again! Worthless! Helpless!”

“Glancing around this room, I can assure you that you are just as destructive as ever. Anything but helpless.” Q said, glad Bond hadn’t taken him up on his offer yet to punch the young man.

“Why are you here!?” Bond growled again.

He twisted his head slightly to turn his ear closer to Q. The young man was glad because he hated to look at James’ ruined eyes staring blankly out at him.

“I told you . . . my agent needs me.” Q said more calmly.

Doctors and nurses began to gather at the door and glance in. Q could hear their whispers coming up behind him. He turned around and yelled at them.

“Get the fucking hell out of here and leave us alone!”

Bond was surprised by Q’s sudden and loud outburst. He rarely ever heard the young man curse and to hear Q shouting at the doctors was a first. Usually, Q was the one trying to mediate between Bond and medical staff. Q was the one who remained calm and stoic in Bond’s world.

Bond could hear the whispered voices hush and sound of feet rushing away. Apparently, an angry Q is more frightening than a manic double ‘O’.

“Now if you are not going to punch me, how about I guide you out of this mess that you have gotten yourself into.” Q’s calm voice was directed at Bond again.

“Q, this isn’t a mission and I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to punch you.” Bond seemed more relaxed. It amazed him how quickly Q had reached him in his fury.

“You know perfectly well you are not going to hit me. You find annoying me far more fulfilling and enjoyable than physical abuse.” Q was relieved to see a smile come to James’ face. One of only three or four smiles he had seen since the man had been injured. “Come along now, 007. Time to leave. Take my hand.”

Q reached out and slowly dragged his fingers down the outside of James’ arm until he reached James’ still formed fist. Q wrapped his long fingers around Bond’s hand. The blonde slowly opened his close fist and laced his fingers with Q. Slowly, Q backed up and pulled Bond forward. Together they navigated through the destruction of the hospital room and out into the hallway.

Q glanced up and saw the medical staff lined up against the wall. He nodded to them as he turned and walked beside Bond. The two men slowly walked down the hall and out of Medical. Leaving behind the whispers and stunned expressions of the staff.

Bond was barefoot, but he had on a white t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. Q carefully walked Bond through the hallways of MI6 to the large open air decking on the third floor. It was a warm day and the sun was shining. Q led Bond over to one of the many seating areas outside for the staff to use. The two of them were alone.

Bond sat down as Q sat beside him. Bond twisted his head this way and that, then he sniffed. He turned his face up towards the sun with his eyes closed.

“The wind is coming up the river today.” Bond said quietly. Q just hummed in agreement. “It must be low tide.”

“Yes.”

“No rain today.” Bond said.

Q looked down at their joined hands. Their fingers still interlaced. “It hasn’t rained for three days now.”

“No, a bright blue day. Warm . . . I like it.”

“The trees in St James’ are beginning to bud. Spring will be on us soon.” Q said.

“Spring . . . I guess I’ll never know.” Bond said sadly.

Q turned to look at him. “You know it is daylight . . . you know the river is at low tide. I know you are more than capable of destroying your hospital room. I believe you are selling yourself short, 007.”

“Quit calling me that. I’m not 007 any more. I’m . . . no one.” Bond’s frown returned to his face. He pulled his hand away from Q’s. The young man immediately missed the contact.

“You are 007 until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand me?” Q tried to sound official but there was a quaver in his voice.

“Even you don’t believe that, Q.” Bond said with resignation. “A blind man can’t be a spy.”

Q stared at the man for a moment, looking at the Bond’s profile. His blond hair was longer than normal and he hadn’t had a shave in a week. The bruises were fading but his skin was still tan. Bond was still one of the most handsome men Q had ever seen.

Q knew he couldn’t let Bond give up now. He couldn’t let Bond quit. He would do anything for this man. Even if Bond never knew the depths and lengths Q was willing to go for him.

“And your eyesight does not define you as a person, Bond. Neither does your job. Did I ever let you quit on a mission?” Q knew he spent more time holding Bond back instead of pushing him forward but now he had to lie.

“No, but this isn’t . . .”

“I don’t give a fuck what this is. You didn’t quit then, I will not let you quit now either. You are my agent and I am your Quartermaster. We work together to get the job done . . . Any job.” Q was finding his own strength in his own words. He wanted to believe he was giving strength to Bond.

The older man sat still for several seconds. Q could see the slight twitch to the corner of Bond’s eyes. The slight tension in the man’s jaw. He wondered if Bond lied about being good at hiding his tells or if Q was the only one who knew him well enough to see them. He wanted to believe the latter but didn’t delude himself for too long.

“Any job, Quartermaster?” Bond’s voice sound resigned.

“Any job, 007.”

Q waited then saw James nod his head. It was a start.

~Q~

Q and Bond sat outside for an hour. After an hour, one of the nurses came out and told Q that Bond’s room had been put back to right.

“You should have made him do it.” Q said snidely.

Bond snorted and the nurse smiled. She had brought a wheelchair with her but Q shook his head at it. Together Q and Bond walked back into the building but this time Q did not take Bond’s hand. The two men walked side by side. Bond relied on feeling of the younger man close to him to help guide him through the building and around the objects. Just like Bond was in the field again, he relied on Q to guide him through the hostile environment.

Bond walked back into the hospital room but hesitated before stepping forward.

“Now what, Quartermaster?” Bond asked sounding doubtful.

“Your dinner should be here shortly. I will be back later tonight.”

“Why?” Bond asked.

“005 is in Hong Kong. He is on the trail of a North Korean spy. He has a meeting with a contact at Stanley Market. After the meeting I will return and we can talk. Ever good mission requires prep.”

“Is that what I am now? A mission?” Bond asked as the bitterness returned to his voice.

“No, Bond. You are what you have always been to me . . . a challenge. Till this evening.”

Bond listened as he heard the younger man walk away. Slowly and hesitantly, Bond made his way to the freshly made bed. He sat down and waited.

Bond had a long wait. It was almost midnight when Q made it back to Medical. Most of the staff had gone home and only the night nurse was there when Q arrived. Bond was still awake. Sitting up in the bed and staring out in the darkness.

Q knocked on the door before entering the room. Q could see Bond’s dinner was still sitting on the table next to the bed. Untouched.

“Bond?” Q came closer to the bed.

“Q, I’ve been thinking.”

“I thought we decided to leave the thinking to me this time.”

Bond scowled at the young man. “So I learn to get by. I learn how to feed myself and take care of myself. I can’t return to the field. I’ll never be able to defend myself. There are people who want me dead.”

Q sighed. He knew this was going to be a sticking point with Bond.

“You were in the navy before MI6, correct?” Q asked briskly.

Confused by Q’s question, Bond just nodded his head, then said. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I did. You were a member with the SBS.” Q ignored Bond’s frown.

“What are you getting at, Q.” Bond sounded annoyed.

“You were proficient with your service sidearm.”

“I had the highest scores for my squad.” Bond growled now.

“Well, not exactly. I believe there was a Holloway that scored higher than you and Trevelyan. Must have been unpleasant to know a woman could out shoot you.”

Bond turned his face away from Q. Q just sighed again, dramatically. He pulled the table around so that it was over the bed and over Bond’s lap. He removed the cold dinner and set it on a small set of drawers. Then Q reached into his messenger bag and removed the Browning 9mm handgun. He set it down on the table in front of Bond.

“Your score for disassembling and reassembling a service weapon is forty seconds.” Q said recounting the information he had read in Bond’s file.

“Thirty seconds.” Bond snapped.

“Forty seconds blindfolded.” Q smiled.

The two men were silent as realization slipped over Bond.

“You don’t expect me to take a gun apart now, do you?”

“There is a Browning L9A1 in front of you.” Q said calmly.

“Q . . .”

“Disassemble it and reassemble. The clock starts . . . now.” Q depressed the button on his stop watch.

“No.” Bond growled.

“Are you saying that you falsified your times in the SBS? That you can’t remember something as simple as to how to take a pistol apart and put it back together again?”

Bond grabbed the gun and ejected the magazine. In thirteen seconds he had it into multiple pieces on the table. All lined up parallel to each other. Then just as quickly he grabbed the disassembled parts and slipped them back together again. Finally shoving the magazine back into the grip and sliding the action back to dry fire the gun.

“Thirty-two seconds. I apologize for doubting you, Bond.” Q said softly.

Bond’s hands were shaking. The adrenaline was still surging through him. He set his palms down flat on the table.

“This doesn’t prove anything.” Bond said but his voice sounded brittle.

“It proves you can do whatever you put your mind to, 007.”

“But . . .”

“You were trained to do that. And you remembered . . . all these years later, you remembered. You will remember how to do other things too, vision or not. I know you can, Bond.” Q desperately wanted to reach out and take James’ hand but he held back.

Bond’s fingers shifted slightly and lightly grazed over the barrel of the gun. The metal was cool to the touch. The composite grip felt rough. Bond picked the gun up and repeated the disassembly and reassembly again. His hands moving so fast and precise that Q almost could not follow them. With the final click of the hammer falling on the empty chamber, Bond sighed.


	3. Working without a Goal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond starts rehab but doesn't really have a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful and supportive comments. I'm sorry but this is a short chapter. The next one will be longer.

The next day, Bond started working with occupational therapists. They started him out with navigating with a cane. Third time he crashed into a table, Bond threw the cane in the direction of the therapist. Although Bond couldn’t see her, his aim was quite remarkable. Q came into the hospital room to see the therapist rubbing the swollen red lump on her forehead, while Bond sat in a chair scowling.

“Did I miss something?” Q asked raising an eyebrow at the woman.

“He is impossible.” She shilled.

“He’s a double ‘O’. Impossible, he is not . . . but difficult, yes.” Q turned to Bond. “Are you through with your snit?”

“Shut up, Q.” Bond growled darkly.

“Stand up and let’s try this again.”

Bond remained sitting, ignoring the young Quartermaster. Q didn’t let it get to him. He took the cane from the therapist’s hand and walked over to Bond. Q smiled before he smacked the back of Bond’s hand with it.

Bond jerked his hand back and snarled at the young man.

“You will negotiate this room before you are allowed to end your session for the day.” Q said forcefully.

Bond stood up so rapidly, he shoved the chair backwards. Q stopped himself from jumping back. Although Bond couldn’t see him, the blond still glared at him, but Q remained calm.

“You are formally of Her Majesty’s navy. Think of the cane as your sonar.”

Q saw the muscles in Bond’s face twitch for a moment. Bond held his hand out and Q set it in the man’s palm. Bond extended the folded cane out to its full five foot length. He then started to tap the cane on the ground.

“Don’t tap. Sonar doesn’t tap. It sweeps.” Q said.

Bond grimaced then started to sweep the cane to and fro, back and forth in front of himself in a small arc. The cane hit a table leg and Bond stopped. Carefully he brought the cane back to the table leg and tapped it again. Bond reached out and touched the table then readjusted himself to move around the obstacle.

It took Bond five minutes to make his way safely around the room. He repeated the circuit around the room two more times till Q told him to stop. A smug expression on the man’s face. Q had Bond return to his chair and then Q silently rearranged the furniture in the room. The therapist was about to criticizes the change when Q turned and glared at her. She had the good sense to remain quiet.

“Alright, do it again.” Q said.

Bond stood and moved forward sweeping the cane as he went. When the tip of the cane hit a chair leg where there hadn’t been a chair before, Bond stopped and frowned.

“You didn’t expect me to let you memorize the room that quickly did you?” Q asked.

“You noticed I was counting my steps.” Bond said calmly.

“I notice everything, 007. Everything.”

~Q~

At first, it was a struggle to get Bond to listen to the therapists. Occasionally, Q would step in and bark orders at Bond. Together, the therapist and Q got Bond to finally start working towards self-sufficiency. Every day Q was there, watching or encouraging the man. Sometimes taking over from the nurses or the therapists. Bond didn’t ask why and never allowed himself to expect the young man to return. No one else had.

Eating was actually one of the hardest things for Bond to do. He constantly reached out too forcefully to grab his water glass or coffee cup. Knocking the glass over or burning his hand on the hot coffee. Two sets of dinner plates and one chair were broken during these sessions, along with countless glasses. But eventually, Bond learned to eat a meal without dropping his food or tipping over his water glass.

Walking through a crowd came next. It was difficult at MI6. The staff naturally avoided the agent when they saw him walking down the hall beside Q. A natural inclination left over from when Bond was one of the deadliest person working in the building. Q enlisted the help of several members of Q Branch to help. He had them walking back and forth inside one of the conference rooms at MI6. Forcing Bond to pilot himself through the room without touching any of Q’s minions. When he had done it successfully, Q rewarded the agent with a bottle of twenty-five year old single malt scotch. They shared it together afterwards.

After weeks in Medical, the skin graph on Bond’s thigh was healing nicely and his ribs were knitting together finally. Bond and the medical staff had called a truce to their fighting. It was a relief to everyone, especially, Q. The therapists had signed Bond out of therapy and the doctors were ready to discharge Bond. The final questioned remained though- what was James Bond going to do now?

Bond sat in the chair wearing his dark sunglasses. M sat across from him at his desk, reading through the file as Doctor St. Clair spoke.

“Bond is physically fit with the exception of his eyesight.” St. Clair said. Bond muttered something but too softly for anyone to actual understand. Q, M and St. Clair all glanced at him before St. Clair continued. “His broken bones have healed and there won’t be any significant scarring from the burns. But . . .”

“Yes?” M interjected.

“The swelling in the occipital lobe has reduced, but Bond is still suffering from headaches. It appears the damage to the optic nerves may be permanent.” St Clair said coolly.

Q watched as Bond’s shoulders tensed at that doctor’s report.

“If the swelling has reduced could it just be a matter of time . . .?” M didn’t finish the question.

Doctor St. Clair drew the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated pout. “Well, there is always hope of a positive outcome but I doubt we should expect one in this case.”

“You do realize I’m sitting right here, don’t you?” Bond’s voice took on a hard edge of discontent.

“I’m just giving my opinion. And with reasonable medical certainty . . . you will not regain your eye sight.” St. Clair said while glaring at Bond.

Bond’s face remained still. Stoic and unreadable, but Q knew the man was using all of his strength to not react to the doctor’s comments.

M sighed and closed the file. He leaned back in his chair and glanced between the three men in front of him.

“Thank you Doctor St. Clair. You are dismissed.” M said casually.

St. Clair looked confused by the remark. He was not used to being told what to do. He hesitated then got up to leave. He turned to say something but M waved him off. Glaring at the man before he left. Mallory waited until the door was closed before he returned his attention back to Bond.

“Alright, Bond, I don’t think we need to dwell on the facts.” M started.

Q felt a need to stop his boss but couldn’t find the words to say.

“I believe we all know where this leaves me.” Bond said remaining still in the chair. “I have a few things still in my locker in the gym. I will have Alec remove them when he returns.”

“Bond, there is no reason to expect . . .” M leaned forward and folded his hands together to rest on his desk.

“No . . . it would have been far more preferable for me to die while on a mission than end up like this. At least from my stand point.” Bond said coldly.

Q felt a punch to his stomach.

“That is not what I mean.” M replied sharply. “I had hoped you would be one of our few Double ‘O’s to actually make it to retirement age. I realize that medical retirement is never preferred. Tanner and I are discussing a teaching position but . . .”

“But a blind man has no place in MI6, does he?” Bond said as he stood up quickly.

Q stepped forward but Bond turned away from the young man.

“Bond, you are still in the MI6 family. You have a wealth of knowledge. We will find a place for you.” M said.

“No, thanks. I don’t need the pity.” Bond extended his cane and started to sweep it back and forth as he walked to the door.

“Do you have any plans, Bond?” M asked as Bond reached for the door knob.

“Other than get drunk? . . . No.”

Bond yanked the door open and marched out of the room. M glanced over at Q.

“Stay with him. Keep an eye on him. We can’t let him go off and do something stupid now.”

Q nodded his head and quickly followed Bond. He knew it was the worst day of Bond’s life and getting drunk seemed like the most natural thing to do.


	4. Old Friends and New Challenges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond decides to try and go out on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to ff_fan for helping me get the last half of this chapter to flow better. Having a beta to help you with your writing is a wonderful thing.

Q drove the both of them to Bond’s flat in Knightsbridge near the Victoria and Albert Museum. The flat occupied single floor of a four story red brick Victorian. Bond counted the stone steps leading up to the door. Then he counted the steps to his flat.

Q unlocked the door and Bond stepped into his home. Q paused at the entrance to look around Bond’s flat. The air smelled stale and dusty. The near empty front room surprised Q. He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting but the sparsely spaced furniture and bare walls was not it. It appeared as if a blind man already lived here.

The bookshelves were only a third filled. A stereo took up most of the space on the shelves. A simple flat screen television sat in the corner with dust on it. There were several framed paintings and artistic photos leaning against a wall, ignored. At least a half dozen moving boxes were stacked in the corner. In the small kitchen, the only appliance on the counter was a coffee maker. Every other counter was bare. The hob looked unused. Q was certain if he checked the cupboards, they would be empty too.

“I’ll put your bag in the bedroom. Would you like me open the windows and get some fresh air in here.” Q said as he closed the door.

“No, just drop the bag by the door.” Bond said as he slowly stepped around his flat. The white cane in his hand swept in front of him as he went. Scrapping softly on the dark stained wooden floor. It tapped the leg of a leather upholstered chair. Bond stopped and switched the cane into his opposite hand. He reached out and touched the back of the chair then fumbled around until he was sitting down.

“Do you want me to fix you some dinner?” Q asked, wondering if there was any food in the flat. Q mentally kicked himself. He should have known there wouldn’t be any and he should have stopped somewhere first.

“No, just a drink.” Bond said coolly.

“A drink?”

“Cupboard beside the fridge. Middle shelf.” Bond leaned back in the chair and removed his sunglasses. His white scarred eyes stared out blankly.

Q followed Bond’s instructions and went to the kitchenette. Next to the refrigerator was a narrow cupboard. He opened the door and saw his assumptions were correct. A bottle of single malt and three lead crystal tumblers were all that were on the shelves. He got two glasses down and poured a drink for both of them.

He walked back over to where Bond was sitting and touched the glass to the back of Bond’s hand.

“Here.”

Once Bond took the glass, Q sat down on the matching leather couch. Bond listened to the sound of Q sitting down, the soft stretch of leather. Q held the tumbler between both his hands as he glanced around the Spartan flat. The two men sat silently for a moment then Bond took a sip of scotch and exhaled harshly. The weight of his loss pulled him down to a sudden crash. This was it. This, he thought, was all that there was ever going to be. Silence and waiting for someone else’s assistance.

“I didn’t invite you to stay.” Bond said with a certain amount of animosity.

Q glanced up at the man. Bond’s face completely neutral. Unreadable.

“No . . . but I thought . . .” Q stumbled over the words.

“You thought I couldn’t be alone? I’m helpless? Well, you don’t need to stick around, Q. Nothing is going to happen. Not anymore.”

“This isn’t the end, Bond. Tanner is working on . . .”

“On what? My next mission? I’m hardly appropriate for field work. Can’t see me running through the jungle after a drug cartel. Don’t believe I’ll be sighting in a sniper’s rifle again.”

“Bond, there is no reason to be so negative. You’re still alive.” Q tried to sound unhurt.

“Alive? That’s supposed to make me want to jump for joy?”

“The therapist said you were making marvelous strides in learning . . .”

“Learning how to stumble around in the dark. Q, I don’t need pity and I certainly don’t need a baby sitter.” The hard edge to Bond’s voice was biting into Q’s resolve to be there.

“There is no shame in accepting help.”

“Get out, Q. I’ll call you if I burn the fucking place down.”

“I thought we were over this . . .” Q started leaning back into the couch.

“WE? Since when has this been about we?”

“James, you are blind, but you are not useless. This isn’t the end.” Q’s patience with the man was breaking. “Stop this right now.”

“If foreign agents came through that door right now, I couldn’t stop them. Just because I remember how to assemble and disassemble a firearm does not make me a Double ‘O’.”

“No it doesn’t, neither did having your sight. It was so much more. So many other things. And not all of those things are gone too. You haven’t lost your experience.”

“Damn lot of good that will do me now.” Bond bit out. He took another drink, finishing his scotch.

“You’re making it very difficult to not want to punch you in the face right now.” Q said trying to lighten the mood.

“Now is your chance. There is no way I could stop you.”

“James . . .” Q started. There was so much Q wanted to say. He had been there every day wanting to help Bond. Wanting to be there not just as a coworker, or even as a friend.

“Just leave. You’ve done your good deed for the day. Now leave.” Bond fought the urge to throw the glass tumbler across the room. The set had been given to him by his aunt. One of the few things he had kept from her.

Q glared at the man. He had spent weeks worrying about Bond. Fearing for him. He had been there every day in Medical, talking when Bond was receptive to conversation and silent when he wasn’t. His heart broke when he was told Bond would probably never regain his sight. Tormented thinking that the two of them would part without Q ever telling him how he felt about James.

Defeated yet again by Bond’s attitude, Q rose with a heavy sigh. “You’ve chased everyone else away. I’m the only one left. If there is anything you need or want, please let me know.”

“I didn’t chase anyone away. They were intelligent enough to recognize a lost cause.”

Q stood staring down at James Bond’s stoic face. The nurses had shaved him before he left medical. The bruises were gone. His face was smooth and tanned. His mouth was fixed in a pout. Only his eyes were different. The milky glass over the fiery crystal blue. There was so much Q wanted to say and no way of saying it without bursting into tears. He reached out but paused before he could touch Bond’s face.

Bond sat perfectly still, but he sensed the warmth of Q’s hand near his face. The muscle in the corner of his eye twitched then smoothed. He had begun to realize Q’s affections towards him. But Bond thought they were born out of guilt. Guilt and pity. Two things he didn’t want from anyone. The warmth slipped away from his face and Bond listened to the soft footsteps retreating to the door. The sound of the door opening then closing. He waited. Waited for some indication that Q was still there in his flat. That the young man was still there watching over him. It was five minutes before he truly understood he was alone.         

~Q~

Bond sat silently in his flat for hours. Just sat and did not move. So many thoughts washing over him as to what he should do. Stay in London and try to work or retire completely. Maybe he should return and rebuild Skyfall. He thought about Alec and wondered if the man knew yet what had happened to Bond. How would Alec react when he learned James was done? He thought about his life. The chances he took and lives he had ended. And for what? To now sit alone in the dark without any one to speak to.

It had been hours of self-reflecting before James felt the first hunger pang. He shifted in his chair and felt the stiffness of the muscles. He wondered how long he really had been sitting there. It angered him that he allowed himself the time to regret. He would never have done it when he could see. He would have kept himself occupied so he wouldn’t dwell on the past and the mistakes he had made. But now, he thought, time was all he was given. Everything else he cared about was gone.

His stomach growled again and Bond sighed. He stood up and grabbed his cane. Slowly sweeping it in front of him, he counted the steps from his chair to the counter in the kitchen. He set his aunt’s glass down and turned towards the door. Again counting steps, he slowly started to map out his flat in his head. His therapist had insisted he do as soon as he got home, that he memorize his flat. Instead of following her advice, though, he opened the door and decided to go out to dinner.

There was a family owned Italian restaurant only a short walk from his flat. He had eaten there at least once a week whenever he was in London after he had moved into his flat. He was good customer and Angelo, the owner, was happy to see him whenever he showed up.

Bond pictured the walk in his head. He had taken it dozens of times. Up one block then turn left. Straight ahead two blocks and on the left hand side, next to the bookstore and the flower shop. Bond started. The air was cooler than when he had arrived home with Q, and he wondered how long he had sat in his flat before he decided to go out to eat. He didn’t hear many cars on the street and there weren’t any pedestrians either.

Bond swept his cane till he felt the edge of the curb. He turned left and continued to walk. He pictured the scenery in his head as he walked passed wrought iron fences and narrow front gardens. He could smell the spring flowers beginning to bloom. His cane tapped another curb and he listened. No traffic. He stepped down and crossed the tarmac to another curb and then stepped up. He could hear the sound of his shoes on the pavement. The soft scrap across concrete. There was the echo of the footsteps as he passed an open alley. He heard the rattle and shatter of a glass bottle being kicked down the narrow street. He smelled the roses from the flower shop and the dust and old leather coming from the bookstore. Bond’s cane swept back and forth and tapped on of the tables outside the restaurant.

The street was quiet. No one was eating outside. Bond reached for a chair and realized they were chained to the tables. Odd he thought. He navigated himself to the door of the restaurant and grabbed the door handle. Locked. For a moment he thought his favorite restaurant had closed, when the door suddenly opened and Angelo greeted him.

“Signor Bond! What a surprise!” Angelo’s voice was deep and round. He had grown up in Croatia but made the best Italian food.

“Are you closed?” Bond asked.

“Signor Bond, it’s pass midnight. We locked the door half an hour ago.”

“Oh . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Bond hated the fact he forgot to check the time on his phone before he left the flat. The therapist had warned him that being blind would cause him to be confused as to the time of day.

“Signor Bond, are you feeling alright? I mean, you’re wearing sunglasses in the dark.” Angelo commented as he stared at one of his favorite customers.

“I . . . ah . . . had an accident, Angelo. I’m . . . blind now.” Bond stumbled over the explanation. He realized he was going to have to repeat it over and over again as he reentered civilian life.

“Oh! Holy Mother Mary!” Angelo gasped. “Please come in. I’ll fix you some dinner.”

“No, no don’t worry about it.” Bond started to turn away but the man grabbed Bond’s elbow and pulled him into the restaurant.

“Please, Signor Bond.”

“No. I’ll just go home and order something to be delivered.”

“Absolutely not.” Angelo protested. “I will fix you dinner.”

“How about you just make me a meal I can take with me and you and your family can get home.” Bond offered. He waited as he listened to Angelo hum.

“Well, we have finished washing all the dishes and pans. I can give you portions of our special of the day and some soup and bread.”

“That would great.” Bond said with a smile on his face. Anything sounded good after eating in Medical for weeks.

“I think there may even be some tiramisu left, too.” Angelo said with a light lilt to his voice.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“Please sit, and I will pour you a glass of wine while you wait.” Angelo guided Bond to chair as he called out to his wife who was waiting for him in the back. “Sophia! Vina za Gospodin Bond.”

Bond smiled. To the rest of London, Angelo tried to appear to be Italian, but in front of Bond he spoke Croatian. Sophia, Angelo’s wife, was a plump woman in her fifties with premature grey hair. She came in with a bottle of red wine and a glass for Bond.

“Ne postavljaj pitanja. Slijep je sada.” Bond heard Angelo whisper to his wife. He heard the woman gasp slightly then felt a glass set down just touching his fingertips.

“Mister Bond.” Sophia said softly. Her accent stronger than that of her husband.

“Thank you, Sophia.” Bond said with a soft smile. He listened as she hurried off.

It was a good red wine. Warm with a hint of chocolate to the favor. Bond sat quietly, sipping the wine as he listened to the husband and wife work in the kitchen. Before he was able to finish the glass, Angelo returned with a large paper sack containing several Styrofoam boxes.

“Sophia insisted we give you several meals to take home, Signor Bond.” Angelo said as he handed the sack to Bond. “There is Osso Buco with risotto, and Bolognese. Also a loaf of fresh bread I baked myself today. Also two servings of tiramisu. Will you let me walk you home?”

“No, that won’t be necessary, Angelo. Thank you very much. How much do I owe you?” Bond stood and took the sack of food.

“Nothing, Signor Bond. It is a gift to you. Please.”

Bond didn’t want too. It was too much like pity but he also didn’t want to offend the owner of one of his favorite restaurants either. He forced a smile and held his hand out to Angelo. The older man took it and shook it.

“Please let me walk you home.” Angelo said again.

“No!” Bond said a little too forcefully, then regretted it. “I’m only a two blocks away. I will have no trouble getting home.

He turned away from Angelo and started to tap his way to the door with his cane. Angelo went and opened the door for Bond and waited till the man was back out on the pavement.

“Please come back soon, Signor Bond.” Angelo called out.

Bond simply waved at the man and started walking back the way he had come. He passed the chained tables and the scent of flowers and dust. He smelled cigarette smoke and heard the shift in sound as he walked pass the alley. That’s when it happened.

Suddenly there was a hand pressing back on his chest. Bond stopped moving forward. The cane quickly swept back and forth but no one was standing in front of him. The person whose hand was on his chest was standing to Bond’s right side.

“Hey, wa’ch you got there old man?” The voice was to his left. Young and thick.

Bond’s mind placed two men near him. One on the right and one slightly in front of him to the left. Suddenly, he was pushed from the back. A single hard shove between his shoulder blades.

“Gonna share?” The voice said behind him.

Bond caught himself before he fell forward. The sack of food still held tight in his left arm. Bond’s body began to react. Adrenaline began to surge through his bloodstream. His mind quickly assessed the men standing around him. He could smell them. Alcohol and marihuana. The sour smell of sweat and unwashed bodies. Bond stood up straight and carefully folded his white cane. The long cane easily breaking down to several lengths of nine inch tubing with an elastic cord connecting them together. He held it tight in his right hand. Bond took a careful measured step forward and spread his feet to shoulder’s width.

“You want to leave me alone.” Bond said calmly.

“Really? Why the fuck should we do that, ‘pal? You some kind’a black belt?” The man to right said jokingly.

Bond didn’t hesitate. He shoved the sack of food to the left and the man on the left hand side instinctively grabbed it. Bond swung his right hand up and sideways. Swinging his arm in an arch, he hit the man on the right with the folded cane. The cane slammed into the side of the man’s head just above his ear. He screamed and doubled over, wrapping his hands over his bleeding scalp.

The man standing behind Bond, wrapped his arms around Bond’s upper body. Bond reached behind himself and grabbed the man’s hair and neck just before bending forward and flipping the man over his shoulder. The man’s body slapped down hard on the pavement. He grunted as Bond brought the heel of his shoe down onto him. Bond couldn’t be sure but he thought he had kicked the man squarely in the face because he didn’t hear any more out of him.

The man who Bond had hit with the cane came up with a knife. The rattling sound of the sling blade being twisted out was the only warning Bond got before the man attacked. Bond stepped to the right and felt the blade slice through the sleeve of his jacket. Bond’s hands reached up and grabbed the other man’s arm then Bond stepped behind the man’s body. Twisting the arm till he heard the sound of breaking bones. The stranger screamed and cursed. When Bond heard the sound of the knife clattering to the ground, he kicked towards the sound. He was rewarded with sound of the knife skidding away. He let go of the attacker who collapsed to the ground with his upper arm and shoulder broken.

The man who had caught the food threw the sack back at Bond. The sack hit Bond in the chest and fell to the ground. Bond turned to fight, but he heard the sound of shoes running away from him. Carefully, Bond picked up the sack of food.

“Where’s my bloody cane?” Bond growled at the man with the broken arm.

“You broke my fuckin’ arm, you bastard!” The man cried out.

“MY CANE!”

“In front of ya’ . . . two feet to the right.”

Carefully, Bond stepped forward and tapped his toe out till he felt it brush against something. He bent down and touched his white cane, still folded up. Bond picked it up and in one smooth movement, extended it out to its four and half foot length. Then he proceeded tapping his way back to his flat. Blood slowly trickling down his arm as he walked.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vina za Gospodin - Wine for Mister Bond.  
> Ne postavljaj pitanja. Slijep je sada- Don't ask questions. He is blind, now.
> 
> The question was raised about Bond hurting himself. I believe Bond is the type who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. He is pragmatic but not self-destructive. If he gets hurt during his mission he just keeps going. He doesn't set out to get hurt. Even in his darkest moments, the loss of M and Vesper, and his wife, Tracy, Bond focused on revenge not regret. So Bond may be angry, he may be resentful but he will not be suicidal in this story. With all the angst in it I couldn't add that on top of everything else. I'll leave the suicidal thoughts to another one of my stories. Just not here. So don't worry about Bond going down that road. 
> 
> Again thank you for the wonderful comments. It really encourages me to read what you think of a chapter.


	5. With a Little Help From his Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond needs to ask a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments. I can never explain how reassuring and inspiring it is to receive them. You are the best.

As soon as Bond got back into his flat, he quickly locked the door and set the sack of food down. The Bolognese had leaked out of its container and made the paper sack wet and flimsy. Bond leaned back against the closed door assessing himself. His heartrate was leveling out and slowing down. The adrenaline was slowly draining away and although he was damp from sweat, he was no longer sweating. His muscles actually felt good from the fight. Like the feeling one gets after a good workout session at the gym or easy three mile run. He smiled and hummed to himself. It felt like electricity was buzzing under his skin. For the first time in over a month, Bond felt alive.

He wanted to do something . . . anything . . . dance, have sex, drive a car fast. There was a need to shout and show the world he was still alive. Living at full speed. It made him feel vital.

Bond knew he still needed to make the call, but he could hear the younger man’s criticism before he even dialed the phone. Bond wondered if his attitude had changed since he last spoke the other man. Maybe he wouldn’t be so resistant to any suggestions. Bond reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out. He pressed his thumb over the screen; the fingerprint reader identified him as the user and opened the phone up.

“Siri, call the Fixer.” Bond spoke. His voice was calm and steady, even though, he felt like he was flying without a plane.

“Yes, James, calling the Fixer.” The electronically created voice said to the agent.

Bond held the phone up to ear and listened to the ringing. It took the three rings before Q answered.

“Bond, what’s wrong!?” Q sounded out of breath.

Bond wasn’t sure if he had woken Q up or if the young man had been doing some other physical activity when he was interrupted. For a moment a wave of jealousy rushed through James as he thought of Q having sex with someone else. Someone else touching his Quartermaster.

“Are you alone?” Bond asked fighting back the urge to growl.

“Of course I’m alone. What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“Relax Q. I haven’t burned the flat down.” Bond smiled remembering the conversation from before. “But I need you come over here and bring your computer.”

“My computer? What’s happened?”

“I need you to scrub some CCTV before the police come knocking.” Bond said just before he disconnected the call. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, smiling at the image of Q being left with a riddle to dwell on while he got dressed and came over.

Bond was putting the food away in the refrigerator and cleaning the spilled sauce off the counter, when Q rang the bell at the front door. Bond didn’t even check to see if it was Q before buzzing the young man into the old Victorian. A minute later there was a knock on the door of Bond’s flat.

“Bond, it’s me.” Q’s voice came through the wood.

Bond opened the door and held it as Q came into the room.

“May I turn on the lights?” Q asked.

Bond reached over and flipped on the light switch. Q glanced around then did a quick assessment of Bond. Immediately his eyes saw the dried blood on Bond’s arm.

“Oh my God, James what happened?!” Q rushed forward and carefully reached out for Bond’s right arm.

“I was mugged.” He said calmly.

“Did you call the police?”

“No. Not after I incapacitated two of them.” Bond said with a certain amount of smugness.

“Two of them? Two people attacked you?” Q sounded frantic.

“Not exactly . . . three men tried to mug me. I knocked one out and broke the arm are the second. The third took off running before I got my hands on him. That’s why I need you to scrub the CCTV before the police track me down.”

“But you were cut?” Q asked looking at the wound.

“It’s nothing. CCTV first, then you can patch me up.” Bond said as he returned to the kitchenette and poured himself another scotch. He felt a familiar buzz run through him.

Q wanted to take care of Bond first, but he had to agree that police coming to the front door was a bad idea.

“Give me a moment. I had to put a backdoor into the metropolitan system. I’ve had to hack into the various CCTV systems around the city too many times because of different agents who kept forgetting that the laws of England are not a suggestion. Where and when did this happen?” Q asked as he sat down and pulled his computer from his messenger bag.

“Just around the corner about five minutes before I called you.” Bond said as he counted out the steps, then reached out to touch the back of a leather chair. He stepped around it and sat down.

“I was the first person you called?” Q glanced up from his computer.

“You’re the only person I called.” Bond said calmly.

Q stared at the man and noticed Bond taking a small sip of his scotch. A smug expression was pleasantly fixed on Bond’s face. For a moment, he looked like the old James Bond. Poised and confident. Q felt the surge rush through him again. The unreasonable attraction to the confident and self-assured agent who accused him of having spots. Q forced himself to pull his attention back to the computer screen and erase the CCTV of Bond’s attack.

It didn’t take long for Q to find it. He watched it once. Then he watched it again. He was stunned at the fluidity of Bond’s fighting style. The quick and sure placement of each punch and kick. Bond’s controlled movements. No indication that the man was blind. Not at all diminished any sense. Q quickly copied the video to his hard drive then erased the original. He then checked to make sure there weren’t any other cameras with views of the alley.

“That was utterly incredible, James. Three of them . . . and they were armed too. A knife.” Q said as he watched the saved video again.

“Oh that’s nothing. One time in Bolivia, I knocked out three trained agents in a lift between two floors while my hands were handcuffed behind my back.” Bond smiled.

“What about the people at the restaurant?” Q asked. “Did they see anything?”

“If they had, they would have come out and helped me.” Bond said as he sipped his scotch. “Angelo used to be a soldier in Croatia. I doubt some street rats would deter him at all.”

Q finished the erasure and closed his computer. “Done. Let me take care of that arm now. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“In the bathroom. Under the sink.” Bond said as he finished off the last of his scotch. He poured a second glass. Then he stood and slowly walked to his bathroom. Silently, counting off the steps to the room.

“Sit down.” Q said as he found the first aid kit where James told him it would be.

Bond sat down on the closed toilet lid, setting the tumbler on the counter beside him. He slowly removed his jacket and then his shirt. As Q watched as the man stripped for him his mouth began to water. Weeks in the hospital hadn’t diminished Bond’s physique. His smooth skin was only marred with the occasional scar. Bond was still tan and muscular.

Q shook as he washed his hands. He tried to force himself to relax. Carefully, he wiped away the dried blood from Bond’s upper arm with a wet flannel. The cut wasn’t deep but it was long.

“I should take you to Medical to get this stitched.” Q said as he studied the injury.

“No, I’ve wasted too much time there already.” Bond said, his face was turned away from Q.

Q glanced at Bond’s neck. The tight cord of tendons in the man’s neck and the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat under the skin. Q felt a warmth rush through himself before he turned his attention back to the wound. He used butterfly stitches to seal it closed, then started to wrap the gauze bandage around Bond’s arm. Bond shifted and turned to face him. Q forced himself to focus on the injury and not on James’ parted lips. The smoky scent of alcohol on the older man’s breath or the smear of his tongue as James licked his lips.

Bond picked up the glass of alcohol and took another sip. He could feel the warmth of Q near to him. Q did not speak and Bond didn’t want to break the silence. He felt Q’s fingers brush against his skin. The light touches were almost reverent across his arm. They sent electric surges through Bond’s already heighten senses. He could hear the young man’s rapid breathing and the hesitation in Q’s movements.

Bond reached up and took Q’s wrist. His fingers wrapped around the thin delicate bones. His fingertips rested over Q’s pulse.

“You’re shaking.”

Q stood up and tried to pull back but Bond wouldn’t let go of the young man.

“I’m not . . .”

“Yes, you are.” Bond said quietly. “Are you scared of me, Q?”

Suddenly, Q was relieved that Bond was blind. The blonde couldn’t see the flush of red that bloomed over his face and ears.

“I’m just shocked to see you bleeding.”

“That’s a lie.” Bond said smoothly.

Of course it was a lie, but Q didn’t think he could tell Bond the truth.

“I . . . don’t know what you are talking about.” Q tried to cover but his voice gave him away.

“You are my Quartermaster. You’ve seen me bleed dozens of times.”

“It’s just the excitement of the situation.” Q tried again to hide his emotions.

“I’ve seen you handle crisis after crisis without breaking a sweat. Remember, I was there after you got shot at by Bloefeld’s men. You didn’t even seemed ruffled. No, you are not shocked to see me bleeding. Not after spending all that time with me in Medical over the last few weeks. Now tell me Q . . . why you are shaking? Is it because we are alone in my flat? Because we are alone and close together?”

Q didn’t want to answer Bond.

“Tell me about Bolivia . . . what mission was that?” Q asked as he pulled his wrist from Bond’s grasp.

Bond huffed out a laugh. “It was just after the Le Chiffre episode. I was tracking down the people behind the man. It led me to a man named Dominic Green. He was in bed with the CIA. The Americans forced M to place a ‘capture or kill’ order out on me.”

Q glanced up quickly and stared at Bond’s face. He knew every one of Bond’s missions. He had read them and studied them over and over again. Q knew who Dominic Green was and what Bond had done to him, but he did not know about the ‘capture or kill’ order. It wasn’t in the file. He couldn’t believe Oliva Mansfield would have allowed the order on her favorite agent.

“M tracked me down to a hotel in La Paz. She had me taken into custody. As they were escorting me from my suite, they foolishly used the lift. Once I had them in a confined space, I went to work. Simple head butts and kicks. They were down on their knees and then it only took a few kicks to their heads.”

Q was amazed at Bond’s composure. He finished wrapping the wound with gauze.

“Done.” Q said as he stepped back.

Bond took another sip of his scotch. A smug smile came to his face.

“Are you hungry?” Bond asked. Bond didn’t want to be alone yet. He was buzzing with a familiar need for a release of tension. He had it often on previous missions.

“It’s after one in the morning.” Q said instead of answering Bond’s question.

“And I’m hungry. Join me.”

Bond stood up and walked out of the bathroom, brushing passed Q. The young man hesitated for a moment then followed Bond out. The blonde was already walking into the kitchenette as he slipped his shirt back on. He opened the refrigerator. Q stood and watched Bond as the man got the Styrofoam containers from the refrigerator. Bond turned and retrieved two plates from the cabinet and set them down.

“Do you want any help?” Q asked as he watched Bond spoon the spaghetti out onto the plates.

“No, I’m fine. There should be a bottle of red wine in the cupboard.” Bond pointed towards a door off to the side of the front door. “Get the cabernet sauvignon.”

Q retrieved the bottle of wine and stepped next to Bond. “Corkscrew?”

“Second draw, left of the hob.”

The two men worked together quietly. Q carefully avoided getting into Bond’s way as the man heated the food on the plates in a microwave.

“I would have thought you would have resented using a microwave.” Q commented as he looked up through his fringe at Bond. He noticed the older man smile.

“Needs, when one must.”

The two men sat and ate in silence for a few moments.

“Tell me some more about Bolivia . . . how did you end up there? I thought you were supposed to track a connection to Mister White in Haiti?” Q said as he sipped the wine. He hummed. “This is good.”

“Yes it is, 2008. Not a fan of California wines but this one is quite good.” Bond said as he took a sip himself.

“Tell me about Bolivia.” Q asked again.

Bond leaned back in his chair and started to tell Q the story behind Quantum. He told the young man about following Green to Austria and Tosca. Q laughed as Bond told him how he had tricked the members of the group to give themselves away during the opera. Then he told the young man about the running gun fight he had through the expensive restaurant. The fire they started in the kitchen and the man who he dropped off the roof.

Q laughed and gasped. Listening to the man was far more enthralling than reading the dry report from MI6. Q forgot the late hour and how tired he was. He listened and forgot even to finish his meal. Bond was clever and engaging as he told the story. He was a good storyteller. Entertaining, adding humor into the adventure of his story.

When he had finished his story with the explosion and fire at the exclusive hotel, it was almost three in the morning. Bond was finally relaxed. The adrenaline from earlier in the evening was gone and his buzz burned out. He was ready for bed. But Q still wanted to listen to more. The young man was addicted already to Bond’s voice and his way of telling a story.

“That was incredible. You’re incredible.” Q whispered as James finished the narrative.

The older man laughed softly. “I’ve been telling you that for years now, Q.”

“That’s not what I mean . . .” Q pouted then yawned.

“Sorry for boring you.”

“No . . . no, you didn’t. I could listen all night.” Q glanced down at his watch. “In fact, I have. I need to get out of here.”

“Do you?” Bond suddenly didn’t want the young man to leave. He had enjoyed talking to Q as much as Q seemed to enjoy listening to Bond.

“I’ll probably fall asleep on the tube. Too late to find a taxi.”

“Stay here.” Bond said quickly.

Q blushed again.

“Here? You mean on the couch?” Q tried to sound relax.

Bond smiled again and laugh silently. “Well, for tonight.”

“I . . . yeah . . . I guess.” Q stood up. “Let me clean up the dishes.” Q took the two plates to the kitchenette and washed them quickly.

Bond stood up and carefully walked down the hall. He returned a few minutes later with a blanket and a pillow.

“Here, Q.” Bond dropped the bedding on the couch.

“Thanks, Bond.” Q said as he dried his hands.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Bond turned around and returned to his bedroom.

He spent several minutes mapping out his bedroom. Counting the steps from the bed to the bathroom, to the cupboard, to the dresser. Bond sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he toed off his shoes. He wondered how well Q was going to sleep for the few hours that remained for the night. He also wondered if in the future, he could convince the young man to spend the night in Bond’s bed.


	6. Q has a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has come up with a way to help Bond. Now just to convince everyone about it, including Bond.

Q had woken up late and rushed from Bond’s flat without even saying goodbye. He regretted that, along with having to leave in the first place. After seeing Bond’s flat for himself, an idea had come to Q on how he could help Bond. During the morning tube ride in, he thought about how difficult would it be to automate Bond’s flat? He realized the biggest hurdle would be convincing the man, himself.

He thought of the already commercially available systems out there and decided he could do one better. He needed to avoid the security issues of commercial systems and applications. Many companies had already been caught spying on their customers though small appliances. Q knew how much Bond prized his privacy. And even though, Bond may not be an active agent for MI6 anymore, but he still needed security and protection. There was no way of telling what a hacker could do if he got in the system, just like Silva did.

As soon as he entered Q Branch, Q waved R over as well as two of his best designers, Margo and TJ.

“You’re talking about an integrated system with Bluetooth compatibility and multiple interfaces. How much is this going to cost?” R asked as she listened to Q’s plan.

“Less than the last car he wrecked.” Q smiled. “Think about it. If we came up with successful prototype and use Bond as a beta tester, we could develop the first true hands free automated house.”

“The programs are already out there. It’s just no one has ever put so many together before.” Margo looked over the list of requirements. “Dragonspeak?”

“A program for dictation.” Q explained.

“Dictation? Is that really necessary?” TJ asked as he drank his third energy drink of the morning.

Q worried the twenty-five year old was heading for an early heart attack with amount of caffeine he ingested.

“Yes, but . . .” Q rubbed his forehead as he reviewed the list of applications. “I don’t like how difficult Dragonspeak is to set up. I want a dictation program that starts working without a training period. I want something more than just an intelligent personal assistant who will keep track of his schedule. I want a system that can interact with the man. I want Bond to be able to request the system to make calls for him, check on appliances, tell him who is at the door, and also dictate letters and . . . stories.”

“Stories?” R raised an eyebrow. “Is Bond planning on writing his memoirs?”

“God, I hope not.” Q said with a lop-sided smile. “No, but have you ever listen to him talk about what he has done?” The other three people shook their heads. “He is a great story teller. If he changed a few facts into fiction, he could be an author.”

“You’re joking.” R seemed confused. “Does M know that Bond wants to become a writer?”

“Bond doesn’t know yet he should be a writer. And as for M . . . I need this be off the books. I don’t want M or Tanner to know that we are doing this for Bond.” Q said as he glanced at the three. “I don’t believe they would stop us from helping the man. They would probably insist on it . . . well maybe not the writing, but I don’t want to get Bond’s hopes up until we have something that he really can use without having to use a keyboard or an interface he would have to touch.”

R glanced down at the list of requirements again. Using her stylus, she started to make her own list on her tablet.

“We will need to know what type of sound system and electronics he has in his flat now. He may need to upgrade everything, including the wiring before we can actually put a system in place.”

“He has a stereo, a flat screen TV and a coffee maker. Standard fridge and hob. Nothing much else. Old Victorian but the wiring seemed adequate.” Q said quickly.

The three other people looked up at Q with a quizzical look on their faces.

“Boss, how do you know so much about Bond’s flat?” TJ asked.

Q glanced up. A slight blush came to his face. “I took Bond home yesterday from Medical. I thought you all knew that.”

“Seems you were very observant for only being there to drop him off, boss.” Margo said with knowing smile playing at her dark red painted lips.

“As any good member of MI6 should be.” Q said as he glanced back down at his tablet. “Now, get me a list of the best applications for each requirement on the list. If you think of another requirement, add it along with programs. We will meet tomorrow before eight and discuss the pros and cons of each program then start to design the system and the device.”

Q dismissed the other three and returned to MI6 work. He hoped what he was planning was going to work. He couldn’t let Bond sink any lower into depression.

~Q~

When Bond woke in the morning, Q was already gone. Bond didn’t want to dwell on why he was disappointed. He struggled as he prepared the coffee maker in his kitchen, wondering what he was supposed to do for the rest of his life. Bond tried to keep himself occupied after he had finished his morning coffee, but it was difficult.

He mapped out his flat. Counting the steps from one room to the next. Measuring the distance between each piece of furniture and each wall. It took him twenty minutes to relearn the positions of each button on the remote that worked both the television set and his stereo. He wondered how he was going to be able to determine which CD or album he had in his hand. He thought it was too late to learn brail.

He lost track of time and only ate when he felt hungry. He was glad Angelo had given him extra food but Bond knew he would soon have to go to the store or make some arrangement to have food brought to him. He wondered if Harrods had a personal shopper for groceries.

When the bell rang for the front door, Bond didn’t even know what time it was.

“Hello?” Bond asked into intercom.

“Bond, it’s me.” Q said.

Bond felt a wave a relief come to him. He didn’t want to think about why. He pressed the button that unlocked the front door. A few moments later, Q was knocking on Bond’s flat door. Bond opened the door but forced himself to not look happy for Q to be there.

“What brings you around here tonight?” Bond asked not backing up to let Q in.

“I thought maybe you would like to have dinner again tonight, but at a more reasonable hour.” Q said trying to lighten the mood.

Bond could smell curry and citrus. It smelled good and he realized he really was hungry.

“What is it?” Bond asked still not back up from the doorway.

“Thai. Green curry with rice and pad thai. I also got some bottles of Singha beer.”

Bond smiled at that. He liked the crisp Thai beer. He stepped back and let the younger man enter. Bond closed the door and listened to Q’s footsteps. The young man had stepped into the small kitchen. Bond heard the sound of bottles clinking together as they were pulled from a sack. There was a snap and fizz when the bottle was opened.

“Here.” Q said.

Bond reached till his fingers brushed over an ice cold bottle. Bond closed his hand around the neck and pulled it from Q’s hand. He took a drink. The Thai beer tasted better than he remembered. Clean and crisp.

“Thanks . . . is this going to a nightly thing or are you just here for another story?” Bond asked before he took another sip.

“Maybe.” Q spooned out serving of the food. A small smile on his face. “Please explain to me why you thought jumping out of plane without a parachute was a good idea.” After listening to Bond’s version of the mission the previous night, Q had reread the complete Dominic Green file. Bond’s telling of the story was so much more interesting. Far more colorful.

Bond let a little laugh escape his lips before he took yet another sip of the beer.

“There was a parachute . . . I just wasn’t the one wearing it.”

Bond sat down as Q brought the food over for both of them. He handed Bond a set of chop sticks.

“Sounds like poor planning on your part.” Q said as he sat down and took a long sip of his beer.

Bond fumbled a moment with the chop sticks, then smiled. With the exception of the rice, chop sticks were going to be easier than a fork for eating blind. He wondered if Q knew that or maybe it was just a happy coincidence.

“How about I tell you the story of me chasing a terrorist through the streets of Mahajanga, Madagascar. He was carrying a bomb and leaping around like some kind of parkour champion.”

“A bomb?! That wasn’t in the report about you killing Mollaka.” Q gasped.

“You’re familiar with the story?” Bond asked enjoying his pad thai.

“I read the report but listening to you is so much more interesting. Please go on.”

Bond smiled then started to explain how he and the field agent had tracked the bomb maker down to the snake fights in the African city.

Bond spent the next three hours telling Q stories from several of his missions. Q was enthralled the entire time. They had finished the food and each man had drank three bottles of beer. Bond was relaxed again. The anxiety from his inactivity earlier in the day had disappeared. Q was exhausted and yawned again. His head resting in the palm of his hand as his arm was supported on the back of the couch.

“I need to go home.” Q said sadly as he fought off another yawn.

“Are you sure?” Bond asked.

Q noticed the man’s hesitation to let him go. He wondered if Bond was just lonely or if he really enjoyed Q’s presence.

“I’m working on new project at ‘6’. I need to go in early tomorrow and it’s already eleven-thirty.” Q said as he forced himself to sit up straight. “I’ll clean the dishes before I go.”

“No, you don’t have too.” Bond said resigning himself to being alone again. “You could sleep here tonight. I’ll traded you the bed for the couch, if you like.”

Q blinked and was glad again that Bond couldn’t see him blush.

“You don’t want to give up your bed . . .”

“No, I don’t but I doubt you would be comfortable with both of us sleeping in it together.” Bond said calmly.

Q nearly dropped the plate he was picking up.

“I . . . ah . . . we could . . . no, I’ll just go home. I think if I come in the same clothes for three days in a row, the gossip would reach all the way to M.”

Bond gave Q a lop-sided smile. “I imagine he would be less than pleased with idea of the Quartermaster fraternizing with a Double ‘O’.” Then Bond frowned. “But I’m not a Double ‘O’ any more. I’m really nothing.”

“James . . . don’t start that again, please. I assure you . . . you are still the very best we have.”

“Then we are in desperate trouble.” Bond stood up and counted off the steps silently to the front door. He unlocked it and held it open. “I will take care of the dishes. Good night, Q. Enjoy yourself tomorrow.”

Q wanted to tell Bond what he was planning on doing for him. He wanted Bond to feel vital again. Important. Needed. But until he could be sure of his plans, he didn’t want to get the man’s hopes up. For a moment Q wondered if dealing with M’s reprimands would be worth a night of platonic bed sharing with Bond. He wanted too. More than anything, Q wanted to fall asleep beside Bond and wake up next to him. But if it was just as friends, would it hurt even more afterwards than never having the opportunity in the first place.

Q stepped over to the open door. He paused and looked into Bond’s face. The emotionless stare. He decided to take a risk.

“What do you think you would like to eat tomorrow night?” Q asked softly.

Bond’s body jerked slightly at the question. He didn’t expect Q to be willing to come back. He hesitated for a moment then said.

“Indian.”

Q smiled and nodded. “And you’ll tell me another story of a remarkable Bond escape from the jaws of death?”

“Whatever you like, Q? Whatever at all.” Bond smiled back.

Q wondered if it was at all possible to get what he would really like.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there are new tags on this story. I don't want to surprise anyone.


	7. Care and Feeding of a Double 'O'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and James grow closer while Tanner is unhappy with events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It smut is not your thing skip the middle portion.

Q made it a point to keep a change of clothes at work in case he fell asleep at Bond’s flat again. He started eating dinner every night at Bond’s flat. In fact, since the mugging, Q had taking to spending his evenings with Bond. Q waited for the moment when Bond told him to quit coming over but the man never did. The evenings were shared with Q bringing over dinner and Bond entertaining him with stories of his exploits.

Not all the stories were about his missions. Bond included stories from his time in the navy and at Dartmouth. Mountain climbing in Switzerland and skin diving in the Caribbean. He told Q how he had met Alec Trevelyan and their time together in SBS. Q hung on every word of Bond’s stories.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a writer?” Q asked as he washed up the dishes from their latest dinner.

“Writer? Why would I want to be a writer?” Bond huffed out an incredulous laugh.

“You are very good at story telling.”

“Is that the reason you keep coming back every night? I’m some kind of Scheherazade?” Bond’s answer had a certain amount of hostility in it.

Q heard the frustration and wanted to quickly defuse it. “Although, it might be interesting to picture you as a concubine . . . I’m enjoying my evenings here. Your stories help me unwind from work. I’m here because I like spending time with you.” Q felt his face warm again with a blush.

Bond remained silent for a moment then sighed.

“Q, I wish you would trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Drying the plate, Q’s hands quit moving as he quickly glanced up at the other man. Bond was just staring out into the middle distance. His face unreadable as he sat in the same chair he always sat in when Q came over.

“I don’t . . .”

“You’re not here because you want to hear me prattle on about passed glory.” Bond continued, ignoring Q’s denial. “You are here because you think I need you.”

Q’s heart leapt in his throat. _‘If only if that was true,’_ Q thought.

“I know you are quite capable of taking care of yourself, Bond. Remember, I saw the video of you beating up those three clowns in the alley.” Q said as he set the clean dry plate back onto the shelf. He wasn’t sure how to proceed with rest of his plan. “You aren’t prattling on. You are . . . interesting.”

“Interesting? Isn’t that what you say when you can’t think of anything nice to say about someone.”

“No.”

Bond shifted in his chair. More than anything he wished he could see Q’s face and know exactly what the man was thinking.

“I need to know, Q . . . I need you to tell me why you are here. Is this really friendship or . . . something else?”

To Q, this was definitely something else, but not what Bond was hinting at. He walked around the kitchen counter and went to stand in the living room where Bond was sitting.

“If you think I’m here because of some kind of pity or sympathy, you are wrong. I thought . . . I hoped we were friends . . . not just co-workers.” Q said.

He wanted to reach out and touch Bond and tell him the truth, but this was as far as Q felt safe to go.

“Normally, I would trust my intuition, but . . .” Bond said and then he swallowed the next few words.

“But, what?” Q asked as he stepped closer to the man.

“You were shaking that night. You were scared of me.”

“Not of you, James. Never of you.” Q said as he knelt down on the floor in front of Bond’s chair.

“Tell me then . . . Why do you keep coming back?”

Q fought with himself to stop from reaching up and touching Bond’s body. He wanted to tell Bond the truth that he fell asleep thinking of the man and dreamed of him every night. That the first thought Q had every morning was of James.

“I want to be here, James.” Q said softly.

Bond shifted in his seat. He didn’t realize Q had knelt in front of him. Q watched as Bond licked his lips. He felt a rush of warmth run through him.

Bond turned his face towards the sound of Q’s voice. He kept his expression neutral but his hands twitched. He imagined what it would look like to have Q kneeling before him. Those large hazel green eyes looking up at him under dark lashes and Q’s fringe. Bond could feel his pulse pick up.

“Q . . . ?” Bond reached out with his hand and his fingers brushed over Q’s face.

A light touch that made Q shiver. Bond sucked in a quick breath. He leaned forward and let his fingers comb through the thick curls. He could feel the satin strands slip through his fingers, then James pulled his hand back. He leaned back into the chair, frightened he had gone too far with his Quartermaster.

“James, you asked me once to help you . . . you asked me to make you disappear and keep your secrets and not tell anyone . . . not even M.”

Bond didn’t move but Q decided to take the chance. He slowly skimmed his hands over James. Instinctually, James twisted his hands to receive Q’s touch. Holding each other’s hand as their palms kissed.

Q smiled. “You know why I did that . . . why I risked everything for you. It wasn’t because we were coworkers. It wasn’t because I pitied you.”

“I trusted you, Q.”

“James Bond, 007. The most lethal and dangerous agent ever to work for MI6 just doesn’t trust anyone. Not just an associate or supervisor.”

“Only my friends.” Bond whispered not trusting his voice at that moment.

“Of which, I am sure you have very, very, few.” Q squeezed Bond’s hands. “Am I correct?”

“Quite frequently, Quartermaster.” Bond said trying to give a lop-sided smile.

“Well, then . . . That explains most of this. I’m here because I am your friend. I’m here because I want to be here.” Q said leaning forward on his knees.

“And you shaking the other night?” Bond interrupted Q still wanting an answer.

As far as they had come tonight, Q didn’t know if he could go the extra distance and admit that being that close to Bond in such an intimate situation was what my Q shiver. He knelt back down on his heels.

“I am never frightened by you, James. I am often frightened for you, and about you, but never by you.” Q tried to divert the attention.

Bond nodded slowly and lifted his hands to pull Q back up. Together, the two men stood. For a split second they were chest to chest and hip to hip. Q took in a sudden breath and tried to back up, but Bond was too quick. His hand snapped out and quickly wrapped around the younger man’s waist. Holding, Q close to Bond’s body.

Q could feel the warmth of Bond in front of him. The spicy scent of the man’s cologne mixed with smell of the curry. Q wanted to taste those lips and feel the drag of James’ two day beard growth across his skin. He wanted to drag his fingers through Bond’s hair and feel the weight of the man laying on top of him. If only Q could see the spectacular blue of James’ eyes instead of the milky film over the corneas.

“James . . . ?”

“I do, Q.” Bond whispered. “I do need you.”

Q did not pull away from the man. He just let Bond hold him close. It felt so good to be held. So perfect it almost made the young man cry. Q shivered in Bond’s arms and leaned forward to rest his head on Bond’s shoulder. Bond’s other arm came up and wrapped around Q’s shoulders.

“I need you too, James.” Q whispered so softly, he doubted the man heard him, until he felt a soft kiss placed to the top of his head.               

~Q~

Q hated the fact that he was the one who pulled away first. He hated that he had to leave Bond’s flat. After the brief embrace, the two men separated and didn’t move close together for the rest of the evening. Even as Bond held the door open for Q to leave, Bond didn’t reach out for Q and the younger man was too cautious to push for more contact.

But that night, as Q undressed for bed, he noticed that Bond’s scent was still on his shirt. Q could slightly smell the spicy scent of James’ cologne. Childishly, Q spread the shirt out over his pillow and then slept on it. Smelling James as he did. His dreams became even more lurid than before. Images and flashes remained as he woke in the morning. His body feeling the rush of need from a painful morning erection.

Q didn’t wait for his morning tea. He immediately went to take a shower. The tepid water not diminishing his need as he waited for the hot water heater to catch up. He leaned against the cool tiles as he closed his eyes. His fingertips skimming over the turgid flesh. He closed his eyes and dragged his teeth over his bottom lip.

As his hand wrapped carefully around his length, Q imagined Bond there with him. The blonde naked and staring at him. His muscular body pressing Q into the wall as his callous hands slid over Q’s damp skin.

Q started slowly, gently tugging, as his mind took him away on his fantasy. Bond in bed with Q. Leaning over him as he kissed his way down Q’s neck. Bond would know exactly how to please Q. He would because he was James Fucking Bond. James would slip his hand in Q’s hair and tug on it just like the young man enjoyed. He would pin Q’s wrists to the bed while he slowly and gently teased Q. Stroking down his body, lightly tracing the protruding bones of his hip before softly scratching at the hair of his groin.

Q moaned loudly in the shower, just like he would moan as James’ lips slipped down over the head of Q’s cock. Q’s movements sped up as he imagined James sliding down his cock, while his bright blue eyes stared up at him. Bright blue and intense. A fire burning behind their icy appearance. Q groaned and squeezed harder on himself.

He imagined James leaning over him. James’ muscles flexing as he entered Q’s body. The sensation of being breached by James as the man sole focus was on him. Q could imagine the feeling of his hands roaming over James’ arms and shoulders as the blonde pushed further into him. Taking him, possessing him.

Q cried out as he came. A whimper of pain and ecstasy as his seed spattered against the tiles and was washed away in the spray of water. Q sighed and collapsed against the wall. Panting softly as the images flashed again before him. That was when he realized that Bond of his fantasy still had his vision. His eyes were still brilliant blue and not scarred.

Q bowed his head and softly cried as the water finally began to warm to the point of being too hot to shower in. Q didn’t move. He allowed his skin to redden as he mourned.

~Q~

When Q arrived at work, R met him with a concerned look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Q asked, quickly running through his head the various missions that were ongoing. “Who’s in trouble?”

“It’s not a mission. Tanner was here before even I arrived. He wants to see you as soon as you got in.” R said.

Q frowned. Tanner requesting him so early didn’t bode well for a peaceful day. Something must had happened somewhere in the world for the Chief of Staff to be here at this hour of the day. Q set his messenger bag down in his office and quickly went to the lifts that would take him to E Branch.

When Q arrived, the floor looked abandoned. None of the secretaries were present. The rooms were silent. Q followed the hall down to the door that led to the outer office for M and Tanner’s private offices. Eve’s desk was empty. Her computer was turned off and her chair was pushed into the kneehole where she left it the night before. Q didn’t even need to check- M’s office was locked.

Q went and knocked lightly on Tanner’s office door. The rooms so silently, Q didn’t want to disturb the place by knocking too loudly.

“Come.”

The command was short and abrupt. It filled Q with more trepidation. The young man opened the door and stepped into Bill Tanner’s office.

Q was always amazed at the difference between M and Tanner’s offices. M’s office was paneled in pale oak. Numerous oil paintings of previous directors of MI6 hung on the walls. The men in the oil paintings dressed in the full naval attire. M’s furniture was soft leather and his desk was dark polished oak.

Tanner’s office was function over form. His desk, although just as large as M’s, was industrial grade metal and plastic. The chairs in his office were comfortable but heavy upholstered fabric that would be easily cleaned. There were no paintings on the wall of Tanner’s office, but maps of the different countries. There were also numerous metal filing cabinets, locked. Q always shuddered at the idea that Tanner was still using paper but the man explained once that it was sometimes important to keep records that were not able to be hacked. Q scoffed at his boss until he learned it was the practice of most secret agencies around the world to keep sensitive information on paper and out of electronic systems. Q often wondered what was in those records secreted in the filing cabinets and behind simple locks.

Tanner glanced up and saw the Quartermaster walking into his office.

“Ah, good, Q. Thank you for coming so quickly.” Tanner looked like he had been at work for hours already. Numerous reports were piled on his desk and his computer was already turned on and streaming live video from a mission.

“Yes, Bill. How can I help?” Q said as he sat down in one of unexceptional office chairs Tanner had in his office.

“Bond.” Tanner said without preamble.

Q swallowed hard and hoped Tanner didn’t see it. “Yes, what about him?”

“I want to know what you’re intentions are regarding the man.”

Q suddenly felt complete out of place. “Excuse me?”

“I know you have been spending you evenings over at his flat. I also know that you are working with several members of Q Branch to develop an automated system for his home. My question and concern are why.”

Q frowned and glanced away from Tanner’s stare. He gathered his thoughts before he spoke.

“With the exception of utilizing MI6 resources for the automation, I don’t believe my relationship with Bond is really anyone else’s business.” Q said trying to keep his voice neutral and non-confrontational.

“Quite on the contrary. Every member of MI6 is my business. Even those who are no longer working here. I am concern for Bond’s own welfare and safety.”

Q hesitated with confusion. He never considered himself a threat to James. He tipped his head down and gave Tanner a hard stare in return.

“Bond and I are friends.”

“Everyone is aware of that, Q. And perhaps your friendship has blinded you to the situation that Bond is in . . .”

“I know better than anyone, other than James, the situation he is in.” Q interrupted his boss.

“I’m afraid you don’t.” Tanner waited to see if Q was going to argue the point with him. Q remained silent but resolute. Tanner continued. “Bond is not just injured physically. He is not just a retired agent . . . He is someone who cares very deeply for those who get close to him.”

Q stared at Tanner in surprise. That was not where he thought the meeting was going.

“If it is your intentions to maintain a professional but distant connection to Bond, I suggest that you put a halt on this project you have planned with R and your two assistants and curtail any further contact with the man. It will only end badly.”

“I don’t understand how you would believe that.” Q answered.

“You will only make things more difficult for him, Q.”

“But . . . the system will help him.”

“Bond won’t appreciate it. He wants to be left alone. He needs to be left alone. He knows it is what is best for him . . . to move on and forget MI6.”

“You, yourself are working on bring him back into MI6. M said you were setting up a teaching position. Wouldn’t you want him to become more . . . independent?”

Tanner sighed and glanced down at his hands, resting them on his desk. “M believes, and wrongly I might add, that it would be helpful for Bond to be engaged in some form of teaching here at MI6. M feels indebted to Mansfield and to Bond for underestimating Silva during the Skyfall episode. But Bond and I both know he will never step through the doors of MI6 again. Not as an instructor or as an agent. He can’t.”

“Why?” Rage began to burn through Q.

“Because having an agent around who has been blinded on a mission would be even more of a moral demolisher than having an agent who had lost a limb. A man with a missing limb would still be able to protect himself. A blind man is helpless.” Tanner sounded defeated.

“Bond is not helpless.” Q wished he could show Tanner the video of Bond beating up the men in the alley.

“He was one of the best agents we ever had working here. Not good at following orders, but good at getting results. It would be insulting to expect him to take a behind the scenes role now. It would gut him emotionally.”

“My system he would be able to live almost like a sighted person.”

“And your constant presences in his life?” Tanner glanced up. “You know how protective Bond is. How do you think he would feel if something happened to you and he wasn’t able to protect you? Defend you?”

“Are you saying I should stop being his friend because I might get hurt and he would be upset about that? Bill that is ludicrous.”

“You didn’t see him after Vesper Lynn was killed. Or before that when he lost his wife, Tracy. You saw how he went off the rails when Mansfield died. Going off on some personal vendetta. Pulling you and Eve in with him. Almost getting you killed. When Bond cares for someone, he cares very deeply. I thought he was going to die. I realize everyone thinks he is a heartless lothario, but he truly isn’t. Yes, he sleeps around and yes, he is very good at seducing anyone he pleases, but have you noticed he doesn’t stay long with any one partner. It’s for his own protection. He knows how deeply he becomes involved with someone. How much he cares. How committed he becomes. Losing someone he cares about is horrific for man. Even if it just a simple breakup and not someone mistaking you for him and shooting you by accident. No, Q. It would be safer for everyone, including Bond, if you just left him alone.”

“He is my friend, Bill. I can’t abandon him.” Q pleaded.

Tanner held Q’s gaze as both men sat silently. Tanner glanced away first. He picked up his tablet and looked at it.

“This automated personal assistant you are building for him . . . how are we going to explain that? He will refuse any assistance.”

“It will help him. It will do as it is called ‘personal assistant’. It will be able to make phone calls for him and order food while making sure he doesn’t leave the hob on. It will help him write down his stories.” Q explained.

“Stories?! Oh, dear God, don’t tell me Bond is writing his memoirs!” Tanner sat up straight in his chair.

“No, nothing like that. I haven’t even suggested it to him. But have you ever listened to him talk. He tells the best stories. I’ve read all his mission reports, but to listen to him retell them . . . they go from dry and lackluster to spectacular and fun. Imagine if he turned that ability to writing fiction.”

Tanner leaned back in his chair and pouted slightly.

“You’re going to ask him to live the rest of his life reminiscing about pervious glory.”

“No, I’m going to ask him to live his life to the fullest that he can possible do so.”

“He does tell the best stories while playing poker. I though he just did it to distract those of us when we played against him.” Tanner said. He sat quietly thinking about everything Q had said. “I need an agency justification for the expenditure for the system. Something to do with . . . safe houses and security.”

“Okay, I can write a proposal. And Bond? . . .”

“Q, I’m very protective of my staff. I don’t want to see Bond hurt any more than he already has been. I will let you proceed with the system, but I want you to make Bond know that the two of you are just friends. Nothing more. Don’t allow him to become . . . attached to you.”

Q wanted to scream. Tanner had it backwards. How was Q going to stop himself now that he was attached to Bond?


	8. Athena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond meets Athena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me. I do not know anything about what computers can and can't do. Let's just suspend out disbelief and enjoy the next chapter.

“No, Q! And don’t ask again. I won’t do it.” Bond growled at the younger man.

“You are being ridiculous. Please, it won’t take an hour.” Q pleaded.

“I don’t care if it will only take five seconds, I won’t do it!”

Q sighed, remembering his conversation with Tanner. He wondered if he had truly misread Bond and Tanner was right about Bond never returning to MI6. Refusing to believe it was for the best, Q pulled himself up to his full height.

“You are still listed as an agent of MI6 and I am still your superior. You will report to Q Branch tomorrow morning at nine a.m. or else I will have you detained for refusal to follow a direct order.”

Bond turned his face towards Q’s voice. He scowled at the other man. For a brief moment, Q thought this would be the moment that Bond took him up on his original offer and punch him. Q was glad that Bond couldn’t see how frightened he was. He almost took a step back, but Q held his ground as Bond glared.

“I don’t need to go to ‘6’.” Bond’s voice dropped dangerously low.

“I require your presence for a trial run of a prototype. You are the best suited operative for the job.” Q repeated himself from earlier.

“A prototype? Gun? Camera? I would be pretty worthless as a tester.”

“You are perfect for our new device and you will report tomorrow morning.” Q said calmly. “And before you can give me the lame excuse that you can’t get yourself there, I have already arranged for a driver to pick you up here and deliver you in my lab by eight fifty-five.”

Bond just kept frowning as Q watched him. The younger man waited for another argument but Bond said nothing. Instead, he walked pass Q and over to the door of his flat.

“Good night Q, you will be needing to get some sleep if you expect me to be at work early in the morning.” Bond said as he held the door open.

Confused for a moment, Q said. “But we haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“Take the food and leave. I’ve lost my appetite.” Bond kept the door open.

Q waited to see if Bond would relent but the angry blonde didn’t. Q felt gutted. He had hoped Bond would be excited about coming back into MI6. He wondered for a moment if he should tell Bond about the project. If he should tell him about the personal assistant that he and R had designed for him. Part of him wanted to do so to show the man how much he cared for James. And part of him wanted to tell Bond to ‘lump it’. The whole situation was making him sick.

“James, I’m sorry.” Q said softly.

Briefly, Bond’s expression softened, then his anger returned. Q could see James’ jaw flex under the tension.

“I’ve asked you to leave.” Bond repeated himself.

Q set the sack of take away on the counter and turned towards the door.

“I’m leaving the food if you get hungry later. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bond didn’t say anything. As soon as Q had crossed over the threshold, Bond slammed the door shut. Q quickly turned and looked at the closed door. The sound of the locks engaging was loud.

~Q~

Q sat in his office and replayed the argument from the night before over and over again in his head. He wondered how he could have handled it differently. What he could have said that would have encouraged Bond to try the new system. Q had been so eager to show Bond what he had created for him. He had been excited last night when he arrived at James. He wanted to drop little hints throughout dinner. Hoping to see James smile again at the idea of returning to MI6. Now he felt defeated.

He glanced at the clock. It was twenty minutes after nine in the morning and Bond had not arrived. The driver was not answering his phone and Q worried that Bond may have taken things in his own hands again.

He stood up and stepped out of his office and into the main work area for Q Branch. Q’s eyes scanned over the vast open room with two dozen people working. Everyone was busy with their own projects. He noticed R glance up at him, then over to the clock. Confusion and concern colored her eyes. Q shrugged his shoulders before he went to his own work station and power up the computer there. For another twenty-five minutes he reviewed several missions when he decided to see if Bond was standing in the lobby.

The doors of the lift opened and Q started to step in when he was blocked by James Bond and Bill Tanner standing in the compartment.

“James!” Q snapped then backed up. “I mean . . . 007 you’re late.”

“And he will be later still.” Tanner said stepping forward.

Bond swept his cane forward and followed Tanner out of the lift.

“Doctor Farris saw him as he entered the doors of the lobby. She requested Bond come to Medical after he met with me.”

“Met with you?” Q had not told Tanner that he had completed the automated assistant. He wondered how Tanner knew Bond was coming into ‘6’ today.

“I was made aware that your project was at the testing stage and that you would be needing Bond here for the initial beta testing. As soon as Bond entered the building, I had him brought to my office.” Tanner did not look happy with Q.

“Of course.” Q said quietly.

“I’m sorry to see that you didn’t take my advice, Q.”

Q cleared his throat. “You didn’t truly expect me too, did you?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised that where Bond is involved, following orders is questionable.”

“You said it was advice, not an order, _sir_.”

Tanner tipped his chin forward. It was the first time he had ever heard Q call him ‘sir.’ It was more of a challenge and less of a sign of deference.

“Bond will be in Medical for the time being. Afterwards, if he chooses, he will join you in Q Branch, otherwise . . . good day, Q. Let’s not keep you for your _official_ work.” Tanner accented the word official.

Q gave a quick nod to his head.

“I’ll be looking for you later, Bond.” Q said as the two men proceeded down the hall, but neither one acknowledge Q.

~Q~

It was after two in the afternoon before Bond returned to Q Branch. Eve Moneypenny’s hands were gracefully wrapped around Bond’s left elbow as the two slowly walked into the department. Eve was smiling, almost laughing as James looked smug. He must have said something amusing just as they reached the doors. Q wondered if he had done it purposefully just to get at the younger man.

“Finally.” Q snapped at Bond.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil-sport, Q.” Eve purred. “Surely, you can share James with Doctor Farris and St Clair without being so jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” Q responded quickly. He noticed Bond twitched at the statement. “It’s just . . . I have a time sensitive missions going on and I need to be available for that.”

“All the more reason I don’t need to be here. I’m sure one of the minions would have made a better guinea pig.” Bond said coolly.

“You’re not a guinea pig” Q pouted. “I’ve built . . . Q Branch designed a system for you . . . with you in mind. Ultimately, it will be utilized in safe houses.” Q kept correcting himself as he spoke.

Bond raised an eyebrow. “A system? What kind of system?”

“An automated personal assistant.” Q said feeling a little more confident.

“A robot?”

“No, an automated system for your flat.” Q rolled his eyes. Only Bond would think he was talking about a robot.

“What . . . some kind of computer program? Q, I can’t exactly use a keyboard.”

“No, it is Natural Language User Interface. You only need to speak and the system will do as you ask.” Q said wishing Eve would remove her hands from James’ arm.

“Explain.” Bond said as he turned his body more towards Q.

“Come with me and I will show you everything R, Margo, TJ and I have built for you.”

Q waved R over and she joined the three of them in a private lab. The room had several workbenches lined up in neat rows with numerous pieces of tech disassembled in varying degrees. On one bench was a row of appliances. A coffee maker, a small television set and a lamp. There was also a small black box with a single speaker and encircled with a thin fiber optic light.

“This is Athena.” Q said as an introduction.

“Good morning, Q.” A sultry woman’s voice spoke from the box.

“Athena?” Bond asked with contempt.

“Goddess of wisdom and craftiness. Also war.”

“I know my Greek mythology, Q. Who is Athena?”

“She is your new automated personal assistant.” Q said with pride.

“She? Is she real or . . .”

“She is an automated system that we can install in your flat. She will perform tasks for you without you having to use a keypad or your sight to accomplish.”

“Like what?” Bond was not impressed.

“First we need to interface your voice to her.” Q stepped closer to the table and set his tablet down next to the small box. “Athena, identify.”

“Q, Quartermaster of MI6.” The disembodied woman’s voice said.

Q was proud he had created a voice that was English and very feminine for Bond’s assistant, believing the agent would prefer her company over a stale electronic generated voice.

“Athena, new resident user input.” Q said as he glanced down at his electronic tablet verifying that the system’s diagnostics were working properly.

“New resident user input, proceed.”

“You need to say her name first before each command. Say resident user and your name or whatever you want her to call you.” Q turned to Bond and explained.

Bond shrugged then said, “Athena, resident user, James.”

“Accepted. Good afternoon, James.” Athena said sultry.

“Explain how she works.”

“All you need to do is ask her to perform specific tasks.” Q said.

Q caught the slight upward curve to the corners of Bond’s mouth.

“Athena, give me a shag.”

Q rolled his eyes and planted his face in the palm of his hand.

“I’m sorry James, I do not understand the request.” Athena said calmly.

“Q, you are joking with me. There has to be a real woman here. Right?” Bond said disbelieving his Quartermaster.

“Yes, Bond, there are two women here. Eve and myself. And neither one of us is interested in giving you anything remotely close to a sexual encounter.” R said getting a little bit more than frustrated with the former agent. “I assure you, Athena is actually a computer system that Q wants to install in your flat. Why he has spent all his and his staff’s very valuable time building it for you, is a mystery, though. Especially given the fact you routinely disregard the tech we work very hard to produce for you and destroy it quite quickly. But Q wanted this for you and you should be thankful he at least still cares.”

Bond shifted his weight on his feet and dipped his chin down. He had known R longer than anyone else in the room. Much longer than he had known Q. She had been his handler for his first mission as a field agent when he started at MI6. And if there was anyone at MI6 whom he respected above all, it was the older woman, R.

“Explain what exactly she can do, Q.” Bond said trying to not sound petulant.

Q sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Bond didn’t apologize but at least he was listening now.

“If you allow me to install her into your flat, then she will assist you. She can make phone calls for you, read your text messages as well as your email. She will be able to report news bulletins to you. She can regulate the temperature and lights in your flat as well as maintain the security. She will identify who is at your door. And if you allow me to get you a new coffee maker, she will brew you a fresh cup in the morning.”

Another smirk came to Bond’s face.

“And music?”

“I will have your entire collection of CD’s downloaded to her memory. All you will need to do is request a song or a whole album.” Q began to believe that maybe Bond would allow him to install Athena.

Slowly Bond swung his cane back and forth as he approached Q. When he was within a foot of the young man, Bond dipped his voice down to a soft whisper.

“You had me sign in as a new resident. Does that mean you are a resident in my flat now?”

Q suddenly felt wrong footed. He reached up and adjusted his eyeglasses as he struggled with his next words.

“I didn’t mean . . . ah . . . I can remove myself . . . from her operating systems and you will be the only one who can give her commands.” His voice even sounded tinny to himself.

Bond twisted so he was very close to Q.

“I would prefer if you didn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcomed and enjoyed.


	9. The Final Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athena is installed and now Q doesn't have a reason to be at James' flat anymore.

It took longer than Q wanted to get Athena installed in Bond’s flat. Unfortunately, the flat’s wiring was unsuitable for the unit. Q had his minions completely rewire James’ flat. The landlord was not informed of the changes and the work was done covertly. Pen cameras were installed at the front and back doors of the building as well as at Bond’s door. Athena was a learning system and would develop a record of individuals who regularly visited Bond’s flat. She would be able to identify who was at the door with basic facial recognition program. More advance identification would be rerouted back to Q Branch when needed. During the installation, Q decided against the single device and incorporated small speakers in Bond’s living room, bedroom, and bathroom. That way Bond could call on Athena from anywhere within the flat if he needed her. Q also set up an application on Bond’s phone.

Bond requested a library to be added to Athena’s memory banks. After Bond demanded more and more novels to be added, Q gave Athena the ability to download novels as they were requested. Also, he programed her to identify specific authors and genera that Bond liked and have them available. And since Athena could already do text to speech tasks, Q programed Athena to download both audio books and e-books that she could read to Bond when he wished.

After three weeks, Q was pleased with the final result. The computer that ran the entire system was secreted away in a closet in the spare room with a dedicated cooling and ventilation system. There was no overt evidence of any changes to the flat, except for the slim black speakers that were in every room. The holes in the walls had been patched and the cameras were discreetly hidden.

Bond had been patient while the work was being done on his flat. The fact that he couldn’t see the various holes that the techs had placed in his walls as they worked was a good thing. The techs from Q Branch were careful not to leave anything laying about that Bond could trip over. Often at the end of the day, Q ordered dinner for the entire crew. The techs and Q would sit on the floor of Bond’s flat and listen the former agent retell a story from one of his many adventures as they ate their meals balanced in their laps. Often, requests were made for just one more story, before Q would shoo the minions out of James’ flat. Always leaving Q to say goodbye on his own to Bond. Hesitant moments of each man wanting to say more but neither feeling comfortable in doing so.

After the installation was finally complete, Q laid sprawled out over James’ couch as the agent requested different music to be played over the McIntosh speakers. The music was soft jazz with different instruments picked up the melody, and playing solo. The various solos blended seamlessly together and made a tranquil song. It washed over Q, and took his exhaustion away while still keeping him relaxed and ready for sleep.

As the music played softly in the background, Bond spoke up. “Athena, call Angelo’s restaurant.”

“Calling Angelo’s restaurant.” The disembodied voice replied.

The sound of a phone ringing could be heard over the music then the thick accent of Angelo answering.

“’Ello, Angelo’s?” Angelo’s voice filled the living room.

Q sat up and looked over at Bond who was smiling as he appeared to be opening a bottle of red wine.

“Angelo, this is Bond. Can you have one of your boys bring me some dinner tonight?”

“Si, Signor Bond. We have a nice risotto tonight or stuffed manicotti.”

“The stuffed manicotti and some tiramisu . . . for two.”

Q leaned forward, and spoke the same time as Angelo answered Bond.

_“I shouldn’t stay.”_ Q whispered.

“Yes, right away, Signor Bond.”

The phone called disconnected as Bond turned and smiled in the direction of Q.

“The first night I actually ask you to stay and you say you can’t. For months now, you have been here every night for dinner, one more night surely won’t hurt.”

Bond slowly dragged his fingers up the side of the wine glass and carefully guided the bottle of wine to pour in.

“If I have wine tonight, I’ll collapse on your couch again.” Q said as he leaned back exhausted, closing his eyes.

“Maybe, maybe not.” James said with a secret smile.

Q opened his eyes again and glanced up at Bond as the man slowly circled the counter and walked steadily back to the couch where Q was sitting. Q took the wine glass from James’ hand as the blonde sat down on the couch beside him, instead of the chair he usually sat in.

Q took a sip of the wine and sighed.

“Eve said you had another appointment with Doctor Farris tomorrow. Is something wrong?” He asked hoping it was just another check-up.

“Farris changed my medication three weeks ago, and has ordered another MRI. She seems to think there is a difference since the last one. Something about the pressure inside my skull reducing.” Bond said as he leaned back into the leather couch.

“Oh . . . is that good?” Q asked wondering if it would be rude to ask Athena to do a quick internet search on optic nerve injuries while Bond sat next to him.

“Don’t know. I’m having fewer headaches, or maybe I’m just so use to them now. I don’t seem notice them as much anymore.”

Q leaned back into the couch too. The two men sat silently, side by side. Their shoulders just barely touching. Q could feel the warmth coming off other man and he wanted to curl into it.

“James, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something . . .” Q started nervously.

He could feel a shift in James’ position on the couch. James twisted slightly towards Q, but there was something else different about him. Something more open and receptive. Q told himself that it was because Athena had really made Bond’s life easier. She had allowed him more independence and that was very important to the former agent. To gain even that tiny amount of control back had to the world to Bond. Q was proud that he had helped him. The young man was grateful that Bond allowed him to step in and create Athena for him.

Briefly, he pondered on how easily Bond accepted the new technology given that previously Bond had been cavalier towards Q’s creations. Q remembered the first time he came over he would hear James and Athena carrying on a conversation like two old friends. It warmed him and he found it comforting. Even if James didn’t want or need Q any more, he would still have a friend.

“Anything Q . . . ask me anything.” James’ voice had softened and deepened.

Q took another sip of his wine.

“You are a very good story teller.” Q started.

“Are you having your fantasy about Scheherazade again? Do you want to see me in a harem costume?” Bond smirked.

Once again, Q was relieved that Bond couldn’t see him blush.

“No, Bond.” Q lied convincingly. “You know how to tell a story that keeps people’s interest. You know how to grasp hold of their attention and pull them into the adventure with you. Have you ever thought about becoming an author?”

“Author?! Seriously?! Q it’s not like I can start typing away and spill my guts about my time at MI6.” Bond twisted away from Q, frowning.

“I think if you tried writing your memoirs, both Mallory and Tanner would have individual strokes. No, fiction writing. Use some of your past missions and change names and locations. Add characters, take others away. Write fiction loosely based on fact.”

“That still doesn’t get me around the fact that I can’t see. How am I supposed to type or write when I can’t see what I’m writing?”

Q sighed dramatically.

“Athena is your personal assistant, James. You dictate, she records. Later, we can have it printed out and if you are happy with it, I have a friend in publishing that can help us get you in print. Or you can be electronically self-published.”

Bond hesitated for a moment, thinking. He often criticized other authors for writing stories that were completely ludicrous in their action sequences. Plot lines that were implausible and flat one dimension characters. He believed he could do better than that. And he remembered how the minions seemed to enjoy his stories.

“I don’t know how to begin.” James said simply.

“Why not at the beginning. Tell me a story.”

James raised an eyebrow suspiciously at Q. The young man sighed again.

“Athena, start recording Bond novel one.” Q said out loud to the room.

“Recording Bond novel one.” Athena answered the young man.

Bond was silent for moment. He gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath.

“The explosion lit up the night sky over Cairo. Gun fire and shouts pierced the darkness as I ran from the oil refinery were I had just set off the bomb.”

Q leaned back into the couch and listened. A simple relaxed smile on his face.

~Q~

Bond continued with the story for another two and half hours. Only stopping briefly to eat dinner with Q. It was late and Q was beginning to nod off, when he noticed Bond had quit speaking.

“Athena, stop recording and save.” Bond said quietly.

“Recording stopped, James.” the woman said.

Q sat up blinking his eyes.

“That can’t be the end? What about the gold? How did he smuggle the gold out of England?”

“It’s not the ending.” Bond said softly with a light laugh to his voice. Teasing the younger man. “I’ve been talking for hours now and need to rest. I’ll lose my voice if I don’t. Besides, didn’t you say you couldn’t spend the night on my couch again?”

Q blinked his eyes rapidly and frowned. He did say that but he had become so engrossed by James’ story he forgot the hour and his meetings in the morning.

“I guess I should get home and let you get some sleep.”

Q stood up quickly but James followed him up. Before the man could step away from James, the blonde had reached out and wrapped his fingers around Q’s wrist. The warmth of Bond’s hand sent a spark through Q. A spark that was more intense that soothing.

“You could stay here tonight.” Bond said calmly.

“I don’t know . . . I have a meeting with Tanner in the morning and . . .”

“If you prefer, you could sleep in my bed.”

Q couldn’t answer him. _‘If he preferred? Of course he preferred to be in James’ bed._ ’ Q said to himself.

Bond didn’t wait for Q to answer him. “I would prefer you slept there.” His voice was deep and rumbled over Q.

The younger man shivered at the sound. The animalistic need that growled under the words. Bond stepped closer and lightly dragged his fingers up the side of Q’s neck and into the young man’s hair.

“Every time I saw your hair, I was overwhelmed with the need to drag my fingers through it. Did you know that? Did you purposefully keep it long and lush just to torment me?”

Q could feel his insides melt and pool deep within himself. He wanted to fall forward and collapse into James. Bury his face into the man’s neck and breathe in his scent. He wondered how Bond could see so completely through him without being able to see at all. Bond knew. Q could only think that Bond knew everything. Nothing was hidden any longer from the man. Bond knew that Q had secretly been in love with him for years now.

Q slowly took a deep breath and tried to calm his shaking. He knew Bond could feel his racing pulse-rate through his wrist. Q tried to gently pull away but Bond wouldn’t let go.

“I wanted you to . . . touch me . . .” Q whispered.

“For how long, Q? How long have we been dancing around each other?” James asked.

Q could feel the frustration growing between the two of them. The blonde’s head was turned slightly down and to the left.

“I wasn’t teasing you.” Q said as a shiver rocked through him again.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I wasn’t. . . I mean, I . . . we weren’t supposed to be dancing around each other.” Q started to kick himself.

“Q, you are here every night . . .”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t trying to lead you on.”

“I didn’t say you were . . . Yet, you are shaking again. Are you saying that you are normally scared of me?”

“No . . . normally you are hip deep in trouble and I’m fighting to get you out.” Q tried to joke. His weak laughter dying quickly. Bond frowned and Q stopped. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Q . . .?” Bond asked again turning his face towards Q. “Is it pity?”

Q could see the scarred eyes and milky color. He glanced away, dragging his lip under his teeth. “Never . . . It’s not pity. Everything I’ve done is not because of pity. I wanted to be here with you but . . . I’m not delusional, Bond.”

“Explain.”

James said the simple command but it was going to take effort for Q to comply. The young man closed his eyes and focused on what he was going to say.

“Ever since the beginning . . . I mean before the accident, before Spectre and Blofeld. Before Silva and losing M, I knew . . .” Q took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “I knew you were going to be special to me. I wanted to be special for you. I felt more connected to you, first as your Quartermaster then as your friend. And when you were injured, I want to be there for you. I never expected and still don’t expect you to feel the same way. I’m . . . I just didn’t think that . . . you would want . . . me.”

“Why not?” Bond asked sincerely.

Q thought he was going to faint from shock. “Why not?! Don’t tease me, James. It hurts too much.”

“I’m sincerely asking you, Q. Why wouldn’t I be interested in you?” James reached up and slowly laid his fingers across Q’s cheek. He could feel the warmth of Q’s skin and slick smear of a tear.

“I’ve seen your files, Bond. I know what your type is. Madeline Swann, Severine, Vesper Lynd. I don’t really fall into that profile, do I? Wrong sex. And even if the rumors about you and Trevelyan are true, again, I wouldn’t be your type. I’m not . . .”

“Not what? I don’t have a type. I have preferences. Intelligent and quick. Which you have in spades. I also appreciate beauty. Refined, elegant beauty.” Bond’s fingertips slid down Q’s face. “Smooth skin, elegant and classic. You, Q are more my type than anyone I know.”

“But you wouldn’t want . . .” Q felt like he was drowning.

“I’ll ask you again. Why not? After everything you’ve done for me. You pushed me when others tried to placate me. You reminded me who I was and what I could do. I doubted you, Q. Just like I doubted you when I first met you, but you proved me wrong. Why wouldn’t I want you? Why wouldn’t I want more with the one person who has always been there by my side as soon as we met?”

Bond’s hand was still cupping Q’s face. It slowly slipped to the nape of Q’s neck and pulled the young man forward. Q allowed himself to be pulled to Bond, then he hesitated. He reached up with his free hand and touched Bond’s face, mirroring the other man.

“James, don’t be playing me. It means too much to be just a one off.”

“I can’t promise much, but I can give you what I have.”

Q leaned forward and sealed his lips over James’. There was a wash of emotions flooding over Bond. He had never allowed himself to blindfolded or tied up by one of his lovers. The sensation of being kissed while not being able to see your partner was completely foreign to him. He could smell tea and oranges on the young man’s skin but there was something else that was pure Q. He could feel the warmth of the man that stood right in front of him. The touch of fingers to his face and slide of full lips against his own. But there was more. A thrill of the unknown, the unexpected. Something low in James’ abdomen seemed to grow and warm. He wanted to taste Q’s mouth and hear him moan.

James’ arm slipped hesitantly around Q’s waist as the young man quickly wrapped both of his arms around James’ shoulders. Q was panting, his breath hot across James’ face.

“Q, stay the night.” James whispered into Q’s lips.

James was rewarded with an indecent moan and the young man melted into his embrace. James smiled and licked at Q’s lower lip. Q opened his mouth and James’ tongue slipped in tasting the remnants of tiramisu.

~Q~

Bond lay in his bed holding Q in his arms. Q had fallen asleep hours before, leaving Bond to remember their first night together. It had be an incredible experience. His blindness had increased his sense of touch and taste. The intensity of Q’s moans and sighs seemed to not only fill the room but also the hidden spaces inside James’ body. The sensation of palms sliding across sweat slicked skin and around and over portions of flesh added to the eroticism of sex. The taste and smell of the young man as he slid over James’ body only added to Bond’s lust. His climax seemed to infuse life back into him more than anything else he had experienced since the accident.

It was morning now, Bond could tell because the sound of traffic had increased outside the bedroom window. He could hear the birds chirping in the tree that grew in the back garden. Soon he would have to wake Q up and send him off to work.

Bond tightened his grip around the sleeping man. He didn’t want that. He wanted to keep Q close to him. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch the young man whenever he wished too. The idea of being separated this soon after their moments together was appalling. He had never felt that strongly before about a partner. He wondered if it was another aspect of being blind. The need for attachment. To be tethered to someone to hold him to the ground. Before such a need would have caused Bond to run in the opposite direction. The fear of being tied down to one person was unacceptable to the man. But Bond didn’t care about it this time. Q could become an addiction for him, but it seemed worth it. Q was worth it.

Q shifted in James’ arms and sighed. James felt him lift off the bed and felt the young man looking down at him. His imagination filled in the blanks and he saw Q with his curls even more frenzied. His pale skin marked with James’ love bites. And a silly relaxed smile on his lips as he looked fondly down on James.

“Good morning.” There was a satisfied sound to Q’s voice even through the roughness of sleep.

James smiled. “Good morning.”

He tugged and pulled Q back down to him. The young man eagerly laying back down.

“I’ll need to get up soon.” Q mumbled into James’ chest.

“In a little bit.”

“Tanner is waiting for a report on a new camera.” Q burrowed into James’ side and flung a long thin leg over the other man’s thigh.

“Later . . . it’s not like he hasn’t been kept waiting before.” James twisted till he felt the soft curls of Q’s hair. He leaned forward and kissed the young man’s head.

“What time is it anyway?”

“Morning? The sun’s up.”

Bond felt Q twist in his arms and suddenly pull away.

“Oh, shite! I have a seven-thirty meeting with Tanner and M today!”

Bond heard Q quickly run around the bed grabbing clothes. Bond sat up in his bed and glanced over at the window. A pale grey line of light slipped around the closed blinds.

“Q . . .” Bond was afraid to breathe.

“I’ve never missed a meeting. They will be calling my flat! They’ll think I’ve been kidnapped!” Q was ignoring James as he quickly tried to pull on his clothes.

“Q . . . I see something . . .”

“James, I’m late! . . . What?!” Q halted in mid-movement. His eyes locked onto James.

“I think I see something.”

Q stepped around the bed and into the line of James’ glance. The older man saw the shift of light and black silhouette of the younger man.

“Q, I think I see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for the wonderful support and comments through this story. I'm hope you enjoyed the ending. Not to sappy but just a little hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed and appreciated.


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